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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

V.3 


THACKERAY S   COMPLETE  WORKS. 

THE  PEOPLE'S  EDITION. 

With  325  Illustrations  by  the  Author,  Du  Maurier,  Cruikshank^ 
Leech,  Millais,  Barnard,  and  others. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BOOKS 

OF 

MR.  M.  A.  TITMARSH 

MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL  OUR  STREET 

DR.  BIRCH 

THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE 

THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING 

BALLADS  AND  TALES 

THE   HISTORY  OF   SAMUEL  TITMARSH  AND 
THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND 

MEN'S  WIVES 

THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS 


BY 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 


BOSTON 
ESTES    AND  LAURIAT 
1883 


PRKSS  OF  CtO.  H     ELLIS,   141    FRANKLIN   "STREET,  BOSTON. 


CONTENTS. 


CHEISTMAS  STORIES. 

Page 


Mrs.  Perkins's  Ball   1 

Our  Street   29 

Dr.  Birch  and  his  Young  Friends   59 

The  Kickleburys  on  the  Rhine   87 

The  Rose  and  the  Ring;  or,  The  History  of  Prince  Giglic  and 

Prince  Bulbo   147 

4^   

BALLADS. 

•The  Chronicle  of  the  Drum.    Part  1   249 

^     M             n           »        Part  II   252 

C>Abd-el-Kader  at  Toulon;  or,  The  Caged  Hawk   256 

dUThe  King  of  Brentford's  Testament   257 

^The  White  Squall   260 

l^Qfeg  of  Liraavaddy   262 

^llay-Day  Ode   263 

(jyjp'he  Ballad  of  Bouillabaisse   265 

^^The  Mahogany  Tree   266 

The  Yankee  Volunteers   267 

The  Pen  and  the  Album   268 

Mrs.  Katherine's  Lantern   269 

Lucy's  Birthday   270 


CONTENTS. 


Page 


The  Cane-Bottom'd  Chair   270 

Piscator  and  Piscatrix   271 

The  Rose  upon  my  Balcony   272 

Ronsard  to  his  Mistress   272 

At  the  Church  Gate   273 

The  Age  of  Wisdom  .273 

Sorrows  of  Werther   274 

A  Doe  in  the  City   274 

The  Last  of  May   274 

Ah,  Bleak  and  Barren  was  the  Moor    275 

Song  of  the  Violet   275 

Fairy  Days   .    .    .    .    .    ...    ...   275 

Pocahontas   276 

From  Pocahontas   276 

Love-Songs  Made  Easy  :  — 

What  makes  my  Heart  to  Thrill  and  Glow?   277 

The  Ghazul,  or,  Oriental  Love- Song :  — 

The  Rocks   278 

The  Merry  Bard   278 

The  Caique   278 

My  Nora   279 

To  Mary   279 

Serenade   280 

The  Minaret  Bells   280 

Come  to  the  Greenwood  Tree   280 

Five  German  Ditties:  — 

A  Tragic  Story   281 

TheChaplot   281 

The  King  on  the  Tower   282 

On  a  very  Old  Woman   282 

A  Credo   282 


CONTENTS. 


Four  Imitations  of  Bi^ranger:—  p^^^ 

Le  Roi  d'Yvetot   284 

The  King  of  Yvetot  .284 

The  King  of  Brentford   285 

Le  Grenier  

The  Garret   286 

Roger  Bontemps   287 

Jolly  Jack   288 

Imitation  of  Horace  :  — 

To  his  Serving  Boy   289 

Ad  Ministram   289 

Old  Friends  with  New  Faces:  — 

The  Knightly  Guerdon     .    .    .   290 

The  Almack's  Adieu   291 

When  the  Gloom  is  on  the  Glen   291 

The  Red  Flag   291 

Dear  Jack   292 

Commanders  of  the  Faithful   292 

When  Moonlike  ore  the  Hazure  Seas   292 

King  Canute   292 

Friar's  Song   291 

Atra  Cur  a   295 

Requiescat   295 

Lines  upon  my  Sister's  Portrait   295 

The  Legend  of  St.  Sophia  of  Kiolf   297 

Titmarsh's  Carmen  Lilliense   308 

The  Willow-Tree   309 

The  Willow-Tree  (another  version)   310 


CONTENTS. 


Lyra  Hibernica  :  — 

Page 


The  Pimlico  Pavilion   312 

The  Crystal  Palace   313 

Molony's  Lament   315 

Mr.  Molony's  Account  of  the  Ball  given  to  the  Nepaulese 

Ambassador  by  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company     .  316 

The  Battle  of  Limerick   317 

Larry  O'Toole   319 

The  Rose  of  Flora   319 

The  Last  Irish  Grievance   320 

The  Ballads  of  Policeman  X. :  — 

The  Wofle  New  Ballad  of  Jane  Roney  and  Mary  Brown  .    .  321 

The  Three  Christmas  Waits   322 

Lines  on  a  Late  Hospicious  Ewent   324 

The  Ballad  of  Eliza  Davis   325 

Damages,  Two  Hundred  Pounds   327 

The  Knight  and  the  Lady   328 

Jacob  Homnium's  Hoss   330 

The  Speculators   331 

A  Woeful  New  Ballad  of  the  Protestant  Conspiracy  to  take 

the  Pope's  Life   332 

The  Lamentable  Ballad  of  the  Foundling  of  Shoreditch  .    .  333 

The  Organ  Boy's  Appeal   336 

Little  Billee   337 

The  End  of  the  Play   338 

Vanitas  Vanitatum   339 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


MRS.    PERKINS'S  BALL. 

Page 

Mr.  Frederick  Minchin   9 

Miss  Joy,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joy,  Mr.  Botter      .      .      .      .  17 

Mr.  Ranville  Ranville  and  Jack  Hubbard      ....  18 

Mr.  Beaumoris,  Mr.  Grig,  Mr.  Flynders       ....  20 

George  Grundsell   26 

The  Mulligan  and  Mr.  Perkins   28 


OUR  STREET. 

Why  our  Nursemaids  like  Kensington  Gardens     ...  42 

The  Lion  of  the  Street   48 

The  Dove  of  the  Street   50 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 

A  Young  Raphael   63 

Miss  Birch's  Flower-Garden  80 


ILLUSTKATlOiSfS. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

Page 

Charge  of  Noirbourg  134 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

His  R.  H.  the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary   182 

The  Rivals   190 

Angelica  arrives  just  in  Time   201 

To  Arms  !   220 

Prince  Giglio's  Speech  to  the  Army   221 

Poor  Bulbo  is  ordered  for  Execution   228 

The    Terrific    Combat   between    King    Giglio  and  King 

Padella   236 

Madam  Gruffanuff  finds  a  Husband   245 


CONTENTS. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 

AND 


THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 

Chapter  Page 
I.    Gives  an  Account  of  our  Village,  and  the  first  Glimpse 

of  the  Diamond   3 

II.  Tells  how  the  Diamond  is  brought  up  to  London,  and 
produces  wonderful  Effects  both  in  the  City  and  at  the 
West  End   8 

III.  How  the  Possessor  of  the  Diamond  is  whisked  into  a 

Magnificent  Chariot,  and  has  yet  further  Good  Luck  .  18 

IV.  How  the  Happy  Diamond-wearer  dines  at  Pentonville    .  28 
V.    How  the  Diamond  introduces  him  to  a  still  more  Fashion- 
able Place   31 

VI.    Of  the  West  Diddlesex  Association,  and  of  the  Effect 

the  Diamond  had  there  38 

VII.    How  Samuel  Titmarsh  reached  the  highest  Point  of 

Prosperity  46 

VIII.    Relates  the  Happiest  Day  of  Samuel  Titmarsh's  Life    .  55 
IX.    Brings  back  Sam,  his  Wife,  Aunt,  and  Diamond,  to 

London  61 

X.    Of  Sam's  Private  Affairs,  and  of  the  Firm  of  Brough 

and  Hoff  73 

XI.    In  which  it  appears  that  a  Man  may  possess  a  Diamond 

and  yet  be  hard  pressed  for  a  Dinner  84 

XII.    In  which  the  Hero's  Aunt's  Diamond  makes  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Hero's  Uncle  93 

XIII.    In  which  it  is  shown  that  a  Good  Wife  is  the  best 

Diamond  a  Man  can  wear  in  his  Bosom     .    .    .    .  105 


CONTENTS. 


TALES. 


men's  wives. 

The  Ravenswing  :  —  Page 
Chap.    I.   Which  is  entirely  Introductory  —  Contains  an 
Account  of  Miss  Crump,  her  Suitors,  and  her 
Family  Circle  117 

IT.   In  which  Mr.  Walker  makes  Three  Attempts  to 

ascertain  the  Dwelling  of  Morgiana    .    .    .    .  135 

III.   What  came  of  Mr.  Walker's  Discovery  of  the 

Bootjack"  147 

lY.   In  which  the  Heroine  has  a  Number  more  Lovers, 

and  cuts  a  very  Dashing  Figure  in  the  World    .    1 56 

V.  In  which  Mr.  Walker  falls  into  Difficulties,  and 
Mrs.  Walker  makes  many  foolish  Attempts  to 
rescue  him  173 

VI.  In  which  Mr.  Walker  still  remains  in  Difficulties, 
but  shows  great  Resignation  under  his  Mis- 
fortunes  190 

VII.  In  which  Morgiana  advances  towards  Fame  and 
Honor,  and  in  which  several  great  Literary  Char- 
acters make  their  Appearance  201 

VIII.   In  which  Mr.  Walker  shows  great  Prudence  and 

Forbearance  215 

Mr   and  Mk8.  Bkuky  :  — 

Chap.    I.   The  Fight  at  Slaughter  House  229 

II.    The  Combat  at  Versailles  235 

Dknnis  Haggakty's  Wife  251 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

I. 
II. 
III. 
IV. 
V. 
VI.) 
VIL) 
VIII. 
IX.) 
X.) 
XT.) 
XII. 

XIII.  I 

XIV.  ) 
XV.  i 

XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII. 
XIX. 
XX. 
XXI.) 
XXlT.i 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 
XXV. 
XXVI. 
XXVII. 
XXVIII. 
XXIX. 
XXX. 
XXXI. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

Page 

Prefatory  Remarks   275 

The  Snob  playfully  dealt  with   278 

The  Snob  Royal   282 

The  Influence  of  the  Aristocracy  on  Snobs     .    .    .  285 

The  Court  Circular/'  and  its  Influence  on  Snobs   .  288 

What  Snobs  Admire   291 


On  Some  Respectable  Snobs 


1 295 
(298 


On  Some  Military  Snobs 


Great  City  Snobs  302 

^305 
!308 
f311 

On  Clerical  Siiobs  and  Snobbishness  -I  314 

I3I8 
(320 


On  University  Snobs 


(324 


Some  Continental  Snobs 


On  Literary  Snobs  327 

A  Little  about  Irish  Snobs  330 

Party-Giving  Snobs  332 

Dining-Out  Snobs  336 

Dinner-Giving  Snobs  further  considered     ....  330 

;343 
'347 

English  Snobs  on  the  Continent  350 

353 
357 
361 
364 
367 
371 
375 
378 


On  Some  Country  Snobs 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 
XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 
XXXV. 
XXXVI. 
XXXVII. 
XXXVIII. 
XXXIX. 
XL. 
XLI. 
XLII. 
XLIII. 
XLIV. 


Snobbium  Gatherum 


Snobs  aud  Marriage 


Club  Snobs 


Chapter  Last 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO 

THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH  AND  THE 
GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 

» 

Page 

The  Rosolio   4 

A  Black  Sheep   11 

A  Coronet,  by  Jingo!   18 

Mr.  Roundhand  looks  out  of  Window   30 

Mr.  Brough's  Ball   35 

Over  Head  and  Ears  in  Love   112 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


THE  MULLIGAN  (OF  BALLYMULLIGAN),  AND  HOW 
WE  WENT  TO  MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 

I  DO  not  know  where  Bally  mulligan  is,  and  never  knew  any- 
body who  did.  Once  I  asked  the  Mulligan  the  question,  when 
that  chieftain  assumed  a  look  of  dignit}^  so  ferocious,  and  spoke 
of  "  Saxon  curiawsitee"  in  a  tone  of  such  evident  displeasure, 
that,  as  after  all  it  can  matter  very  little  to  me  whereabouts 
lies  the  Celtic  principalit}^  in  question,  I  have  never  pressed  the 
inquiry  any  farther. 

I  don't  know  even  the  Mulligan's  town  residence.  One 
night,  as  he  bade  us  adieu  in  Oxford  Street,  —  ''I  live  there^'' 
says  he,  pointing  down  towards  Oxbridge,  with  the  big  stick  he 
carries  :  —  so  his  abode  is  in  that  direction  at  any  rate.  He 
has  his  letters  addressed  to  several  of  his  friends'  houses,  and 
his  parcels,  &c.  are  left  for  him  at  various  taverns  which  he 
frequents.  That  pair  of  checked  trousers,  in  which  you  see 
him  attired,  he  did  me  the  favor  of  ordering  from  my  own 
tailor,  who  is  quite  as  anxious  as  an}  body  to  know  the  address 
of  the  wearer.  In  like  manner  my  hatter  asked  me,  "  Oo  was 
the  Hirish  gent  as  'ad  ordered  four  'ats  and  a  sable  boar  to  be  sent 
to  my  lodgings?"  As  I  did  not  know  (however  I  might  guess) 
the  articles  have  never  been  sent,  and  the  Mulligan  has  with- 
drawn his  custom  from  the  infernal  four-and-nine-penny 
scoundthrel,"  as  he  calls  him.  The  hatter  has  not  shut  up  shop 
in  consequence. 

I  became  acquainted  with  the  Mulligan  through  a  distin- 
guished countryman  of  his,  who,  strange  to  sa}',  did  not  know 
the  chieftain  himself.    But  dining  with  my  friend  Fred  Clancy, 


4 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


of  the  Irish  bar,  at  Greenwich,  the  Mulligan  came  up,  "  inthro- 
juiced"  himself  to  Clanc}^  as  he  said,  claimed  relationship  with 
him  on  the  side  of  Brian  Boroo,  and  drawing  his  chair  to  our 
table,  quickly  became  intimate  with  us.  He  took  a  great  liking 
to  me,  was  good  enough  to  find  out  my  address  and  pay  me  a 
yisit :  since  which  period  often  and  often  on  coming  to  breakfast 
in  the  morning  I  have  found  him  in  my  sitting-room  on  the  sofa 
engaged  with  the  rolls  and  morning  papers  :  and  many  a  time, 
on  returning  home  at  night  for  an  evening's  quiet  reading,  I 
have  discovered  this  honest  fellow  in  the  arm-chair  before  the 
fire,  perfuming  the  apartment  with  my  cigars  and  trying  the 
quaht}'  of  such  liquors  as  might  be  found  on  the  sideboard. 
The  wa}^  in  which  he  pokes  fun  at  Betsy,  the  maid  of  the  lodg- 
ings, is  prodigious.  She  begins  to  laugh  whenever  he  comes  ; 
if  he  calls  her  a  duck,  a  divvle,  a  darlin',  it  is  all  one.  He  is 
just  as  much  a  master  of  the  premises  as  the  individual  who 
rents  them  at  fifteen  shilUngs  a  week  ;  and  as  for  handkerchiefs, 
shirt-collars,  and  the  like  articles  of  fugitive  haberdashery,  the 
loss  since  I  have  known  him  is  unaccountable.  I  suspect  he  is 
like  the  cat  in  some  houses  :  for,  suppose  the  whiske}^,  the  cigars, 
the  sugar,  the  tea-cadd}^,  the  pickles,  and  other  groceries  disap- 
pear, all  is  laid  upon  that  edax-renim  of  a  Mulligan. 

The  greatest  offence  that  can  be  offered  to  him  is  to  call 
him  Mr.  Mulligan.  ''Would  you  deprive  me,  sir,"  says  he, 
of  the  title  which  was  bawrun  be  me  princelee  ancestors  in 
a  hundred  thousand  battles?  In  our  own  green  vallej's  and 
fawrests,  in  the  American  savannahs,  in  the  sierras  of  Speen 
and  the  flats  of  Flandthers,  the  Saxon  has  quailed  before  me 
war-cry  of  Mulligan  Aboo  !  Mr.  Mulligan  !  I'll  pitch  any- 
body out  of  the  window  who  calls  me  Mr.  Mulligan."  He  said 
this*,  and  uttered  the  slogan  of  the  MulHgans  with  a  shriek  so 
terrific,  that  my  uncle  (the  Rev.  W.  Gruels,  of  the  Independent 
Congregation,  Bungay),  who  had  happened  to  address  him  in 
the  above  obnoxious  manner,  while  sitting  at  my  apartments 
drinking  tea  after  the  May  meetings,  instuntly  quitted  the 
room,  and  has  never  taken  the  least  notice  of  me  since,  except 
to  state  to  the  rest  of  tiie  family  that  I  am  doomed  irrevocably 
to  perdition. 

Well,  one  day  last  season,  I  had  received  from  my  kind  and 
most  estimable  friend,  Mrs.  Perkins  of  Pocklington  Square 
(to  whose  amiable  family  I  have  had  the  honor  of  giving  lessons 
in  drawing,  French,  and  the  (iernian  flute),  an  invitation  couched 
in  the  usual  terms,  on  satin  gilt-edged  note-paper,  to  her  evening- 
party  ;  or,  as  J  call  it,  Ball." 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


5 


Besides  the  engraved  note  sent  to  all  her  friends,  my  kind 
patroness  had  addressed  me  privatel}^  as  follows  :  — 

**My  dear  Mr.  Titmarsh,  —  If  you  know  any  very  eligible  young  man. 
we  give  you  leave  to  bring  him.  You  gentlemen  love  your  clubs  so  much 
now,  and  care  so  little  for  dancing,  that  it  is  really  quite  a  scandal.  Come 
early,  and  before  everijbodij,  and  give  us  the  benefit  of  all  your  taste  and 
continental  skill. 

"  Your  sincere 

"Emily  Perkins." 

"Whom  shall  I  bring?"  mused  I,  highl}^  flattered  by  this 
mark  of  confidence  ;  and  I  thought  of  Bob  Trippett ;  and  little 
Fred  Spring,  of  the  Nav}'  Pa}^  Office  ;  Hulker,  who  is  rich,  and 
I  knew  took  lessons  in  Paris  ;  and  a  half-score  of  other  bachelor 
friends,  who  might  be  considered  as  very  eligible  —  when  I  was 
roused  from  m}'  meditation  b}^  the  slap  of  a  hand  on  my 
shoulder;  and  looking  up,  there  was  the  Mulligan,  who  began, 
as  usual,  reading  the  papers  on  my  desk. 

' '  Hwhat's  this  ?  "  sa3^s  he.  ' '  Who's  Perkins  ?  Is  it  a  supper- 
ball,  or  only  a  tay-ball?" 

''The  Perkinses  of  Pocklington  Square,  Mulligan,  are  tip- 
top people,"  says  I,  with  a  tone  of  dignity.  ''Mr.  Perkins's 
sister  is  married  to  a  baronet.  Sir  Giles  Bacon,  of  Hogwash, 
Norfolk.  Mr.  Perkins's  uncle  was  Lord  Mayor  of  London  ;  and 
he  was  himself  in  Parliament,  and  mai/  he  again  an}^  day.  The 
famil}^  are  my  most  particular  friends.  A  tay-ball  indeed  ! 
why,  Gunter  ..."  Here  I  stopped  :  I  felt  I  was  committing 
myself. 

"  Gunter  !  "  says  the  Mulligan,  with  another  confounded  slap 
on  the  shoulder.  "  Don't  say  another  word  :  /'//  go  widg  you, 
my  bo}^" 

"  You  go,  Mulhgan?"  says  I:  "why,  really  —  I  —  it's  not 
m}^  party." 

"  Your  hwhawt?  hwhat's  this  letter?  a' n't  I  an  eligible  young 
man?  —  Is  the  descendant  of  a  thousand  kings  unfit  company 
for  a  miserable  tallow-chandthlering  cockney?  Are  ye  joking 
wid  me?  for,  let  me  tell  ye,  I  don't  like  them  jokes.  D'ye  sup- 
pose I'm  not  as  well  bawrun  and  bred  as  yourself,  or  any  Saxon 
friend  ye  ever  had  ?  " 

"  I  never  said  you  weren't.  Mulligan,"  says  I. 

"  Ye  don't  mean  seriously  that  a  Mulligan  is  not  fit  company 
for  a  Perkins  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  could  you  think  I  could  so  far  insult 
you  ?  "  says  I.  Well,  then, "  says  he,  "  that's  a  matter  settled, 
and  we  go." 


6 


MRS.  PERKLXS'S  BALL. 


What  the  deuce  was  I  to  do  ?  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Perkins ; 
and  that  kind  lady  replied,  that  she  would  receive  the  Mulli- 
gan, or  an}'  other  of  my  friends,  with  the  greatest  cordiality. 

Fancy  a  party,  all  Mulligans!"  thought  I,  with  a  secret 
terror. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  PERKINS,  THEIR  HOUSE,  AND 
THEIR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

Following  Mrs.  Perkins's  orders,  the  present  writer  made 
his  appearance  ver}'  earh^  at  Pocklington  Square :  where  the 
tastiness  of  all  the  decorations  elicited  ni}^  warmest  admiration. 
Supper  of  course  was  in  the  dining-room,  superbly  arranged  by 
Messrs.  Grigs  and  Spooner,  the  confectioners  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. I  assisted  my  respected  friend  Mr.  Perkins  and  his 
butler  in  decanting  the  sherry,  and  saw,  not  without  satisfac- 
tion, a  large  bath  for  wine  under  the  sideboard,  in  which  were 
alread}'  placed  very  many  bottles  of  champagne. 

The  Back  Dining-room,  Mr.  P.'s  stud}^  (where  the  vener- 
able man  goes  to  sleep  after  dinner),  was  arranged  on  this 
occasion  as  a  tea-room,  Mrs.  Flouncey  (Miss  Fanny's  maid) 
officiating  in  a  cap  and  pink  ribbons,  which  became  her  ex- 
ceedingly. Long,  long  before  the  arrival  of  the  company,  I 
remarked  Master  Thomas  Perkins  and  Master  Giles  Bacon,  his 
cousin  (son  of  Sir  Giles  Bacon,  Bart.),  in  this  apartment,  bus}^ 
among  the  macaroons. 

Mr.  Gregory  the  butler,  besides  John  the  footman  and  Sir 
Giles's  large  man  in  the  Bacon  livery,  and  honest  Grundsell, 
carpet-beater  and  green-grocer,  of  Little  Pocklington  Buildings, 
had  at  least  half  a  dozen  of  aides-de-camp  in  black  with  white 
neck-cloths,  like  doctors  of  divinity. 

The  Back  Drawing-room  door  on  the  landing  being  taken 
off  the  hingc^s  (and  placed  up  stairs  under  Mr.  Perkins's  bed), 
the  oi'ilic(i  was  covered  with  muslin,  and  festooned  with  elegant 
wreatiis  of  flowers.  This  was  the  Dancing  Saloon.  A  linen 
was  spread  over  the  carpet;  and  a  band  —  consisting  of  Mr. 
Cla[)perton,  i)iano,  Mr.  Pinch,  harp,  and  Herr  SpoflT,  cornet- 
a-piston  —  ari  ived  at  a  pretty  early  hour,  and  were  accommo- 
dated with  some  coml'ortabk*  negus  in  tea-room,  previous 
to  th(i  connn(Miceinent  of  their  delightful  labors.  The  boudoir 
to  the  left  was  littcd  up  as  a  card-room  ;  the  drawing-room 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


7 


was  of  course  for  the  reception  of  the  company, — the  chande- 
liers and  yellow  damask  being  displayed  this  night  in  all  their 
splendor ;  and  the  charming  conservator}-  over  the  landing 
was  ornamented  by  a  few  moon-like  lamps,  and  the  flowers 
arranged  so  that  it  had  the  appearance  of  a  fairy  bower.  And 
Miss  Perkins  (as  I  took  the  liberty  of  stating  to  her  mamma) 
looked  like  the  fairy  of  that  bower.  It  is  this  young  creature's 
first  year  m  public  life :  she  has  been  educated,  regardless  of 
expense,  at  Hammersmith ;  and  a  simple  white  muslin  dress 
and  blue  ceinture  set  off  charms  of  which  I  beg  to  speak  with 
respectful  admiration. 

My  distinguished  friend  the  Mulligan  of  Ballymulligan  was 
good  enough  to  come  the  very  first  of  the  party.  V»\  the  way, 
how  awkward  it  is  to  be  the  first  of  the  part}' !  and  yet  you 
know  somebody  must ;  but  for  my  part,  being  timid,  1  always 
wait  at  the  corner  of  the  street  in  the  cab,  and  watch  until 
some  other  carriage  comes  up. 

Well,  as  we  were  arranging  the  sherry  in  the  decanters 
down  the  supper-tables,  my  friend  arrived:  Hwhares  me 
friend  Mr.  Titmarsh?"  I  heard  him  bawling  out  to  Gregory 
in  the  passage,  and  presentl}'  he  rushed  into  the  supper-room, 
where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perkins  and  myself  were,  and  as  the 
waiter  was  announcing  ''Mr.  Mulligan,"  ''THE  Mulligan 
of  Ballymulligan,  ye  blackguard ! "  roared  he,  and  stalked 
into  the  apartment,  "  apologoizing,"  as  he  said,  for  introducing 
himself. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perkins  did  not  perhaps  wish  to  be  seen  in 
this  room,  which  was  for  the  present  only  lighted  by  a  couple 
of  candles  ;  but  he  was  not  at  all  abashed  by  the  circumstance, 
and  grasping  them  both  warmly  by  the  hands,  he  instantly 
made  himself  at  home.  "As  friends  of  m}"  dear  and  talented 
friend  Mick,"  so  he  is  pleased  to  call  me,  "  Pm  deloighted, 
madam,  to  be  made  known  to  ^^e.  Don't  consider  me  in  the 
light  of  a  mere  acquaintance  !  As  for  you,  my  dear  madam, 
you  put  me  so  much  in  moind  of  my  own  blessed  mother,  now 
resoiding  at  Ballymulligan  Castle,  that  I  begin  to  love  ye  at 
first  soight."  At  which  speech  Mr.  Perkins  getting  rather 
alarmed,  asked  the  Mulligan  whether  he  would  take  some 
wine,  or  go  up  stairs. 

"  Faix,"  saj's  Mulligan  "it's  never  too  soon  for  good 
dhrink."  And  (although  he  smelt  very  much  of  whiskey 
already)  he  drank  a  tumbler  of  wine  "to  the  improvement 
of  an  acqueentence  which  comminces  in  a  manner  so  de- 
loightful." 


8 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


"Let's  go  up  stairs,  Mulligan,"  says  I,  and  led  the  noble 
Irishman  the  upper  apartments,  which  were  in  a  profound 
gloom,  the  candles  not  being  yet  illuminated,  and  where  we 
surprised  Miss  Fanny,  seated  in  the  twilight  at  the  piano, 
timidl}^  trying  the  tunes  of  the  polka  which  she  danced  so 
exquisitely  that  evening.  She  did  not  perceive  the  strange i' 
at  first ;  but  how  she  started  when  the  Mulligan  loomed 
upon  her. 

"  Heavenlee  enchanthress  !  "  says  Mulligan,  "don't  floy  at 
the  approach  of  the  humblest  of  your  sleeves  !  Reshewm  your 
pleece  at  that  insthrument,  which  weeps  harmonious,  or  smoils 
melojious,  as  you  charrum  it !  Are  you  acqueented  with  the 
Oirish  Melodies?  Can  ye  play,  '  Who  fears  to  talk  of  Noint}-- 
eight?'  the  'Shan  Van  Voght?'  or  the  'Dirge  of  011am 
Fodhlah?"' 

''Who's  this  mad  chap  that  Titmarsh  has  brought?"  I 
heard  Master  Bacon  exclaim  to  Master  Perkins.  "  Look  !  how 
frightened  Fanny  looks  !  " 

"O  poo!  gals  are  always  frightened,"  Fanny's  brother 
replied;  but  Giles  Bacon,  more  violent,  said,  "I'll  tell  you 
what,  Tom :  if  this  goes  on,  we  must  pitch  into  him."  And 
so  I  have  no  doubt  the}^  would,  when  another  thundering 
knock  coming,  Gregory  rushed  into  the  room  and  began 
lighting  all  the  candles,  so  as  to  produce  an  amazing  brilliancy. 
Miss  Fanu}^  sprang  up  and  ran  to  her  mamma,  and  the  3^oung 
gentlemen  slid  down  the  banisters  to  receive  the  company  in 
the  hall. 


EVERYBODY  BEGINS  TO  COME,  BUT  ESPECIALLY 
MR.  MINCIIIN. 

"  It's  only  me  and  my  sisters,"  Master  Bacon  said  ;  though 
"only"  meant  eight  in  this  instance.  All  the  young  ladies 
had  fresh  cheeks  and  i)urple  elbows  ;  all  had  white  frocks,  with 
hair  more  or  less  auburn  :  and  so  a  part}'  was  already  made  of 
this  blooming  and  numerous  family,  before  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany b(igan  to  arrives.  Tiie  three  Miss  Meggots  next  came  in 
their  fly:  Mr.  Blades  nnd  his  niece  from  19  in  the?  square: 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Strnther,  and  Miss  Strnther  :  Doctor  Toddy's 
two  daughters  and  their  niaiuma  :  but  where  were  the  gentle- 
men?   Tiie  Mulligan,  great  and  actire  as  he  was,  could  not 


What  Name  shall  I  enounce?"    "Don*t  hurry  the  Gentleman 
don't  you  see  he  ain't  buttoned  his  Strap  yetV  ''Say 
Mr.  FREDERICK  MINCHIN."   {This  is  spoken  with  much  dignify.) 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  IIUNO'S 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALI.. 


9 


suffice  among  so  many  beauties.  At  last  came  a  brisk  neat 
little  knock,  and  looking  into  the  hall,  I  saw  a  gentleman  taking 
off  his  clogs  there,  whilst  Sir  Giles  Bacon's  big  footman  was 
looking  on  with  rather  a  contemptuous  air. 

"What  name  shall  I  enounce?"  says  he,  with  a  wink  at 
Gregor}'  on  the  stair. 

The  gentleman  in  clogs  said,  with  quiet  dignity,  — 

MR.  FREDERICK  MINCHIN. 

"Pump  Court,  Temple,"  is  printed  on  his  cards  in  very 
small  type  ;  and  he  is  a  rising  barrister  of  the  Western  Circuit. 
He  is  to  be  found  at  home  of  mornings  :  afterwards  "  at  West- 
minster," as  you  read  on  his  back  door.  "  Binks  and  Minchin's 
Reports  "  are  probably  known  to  my  legal  friends  :  this  is  the 
Minchin  in  question. 

He  is  decidedl}^  genteel,  and  is  rather  in  request  at  the  balls 
of  the  Judges'  and  Serjeants'  ladies :  for  he  dances  irreproach- 
ably, and  goes  out  to  dinner  as  much  as  ever  he  can. 

He  mostl}^  dines  at  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club,  of  which 
3'ou  can  easily  see  by  his  appearance  that  he  is  a  member ;  he 
takes  the  joint  and  his  half-pint  of  wine,  for  Minchin  does  every- 
thing like  a  gentleman.  He  is  rather  of  a  literar}^  turn  ;  still 
makes  Latin  verses  with  some  neatness  ;  and  before  he  was 
called,  was  remarkably  fond  of  the  flute. 

When  Mr.  Minchin  goes  out  in  the  evening,  his  clerk  brings 
his  bag  to  the  Club,  to  dress  ;  and  if  it  is  at  all  muddy,  he 
turns  up  his  trousers,  so  that  he  may  come  in  without  a  speck. 
For  such  a  part}^  as  this,  he  will  have  new  gloves  ;  otherwise 
Frederick,  his  clerk,  is  chiefly  employed  in  cleaning  them  with 
India-rubber. 

He  has  a  number  of  pleasant  stories  about  the  Circuit  and 
the  University,  which  he  tells  with  a  simper  to  his  neighbor  at 
dinner  ;  and  has  always  the  last  joke  of  Mr.  Baron  Maule.  He 
has  a  private  fortune  of  five  thousand  pounds  ;  he  is  a  dutiful 
son  ;  he  has  a  sister  married,  in  Harley  Street ;  and  Lady  Jane 
Ranville  has  the  best  opinion  of  him,  and  says  he  is  a  most 
excellent  and  highly  principled  young  man. 

Her  ladyship  and  daughter  arrived  just  as  Mr.  Minchin  had 
popped  his  clogs  into  the  umbrella-stand  ;  and  the  rank  of  that 
respected  person,  and  the  dignified  manner  in  which  he  led  her 
up  stairs,  caused  all  sneering  on  the  part  of  the  domestics  to 
disappear. 


10 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


THE  BALL-ROOM  DOOR. 

A  HUNDRED  of  kiiocks  follow  Frederick  Minchin's :  in  half 
an  hour  Messrs.  Spoff,  Pinch,  and  Clapperton  have  begun 
their  music,  and  MuUigan,  with  one  of  the  Miss  Bacons,  is 
dancing  majestically  in  the  first  quadrille.  My  3'oung  friends 
Giles  and  Tom  prefer  the  landing-place  to  the  drawing-rooms, 
w^here  they  stop  all  night,  robbing  the  refreshment-tra3^s  as  they 
come  up  or  down.  Giles  has  eaten  fourteen  ices :  he  will  have 
a  dreadful  stomach-ache  to-morrow.  Tom  has  eaten  twelve, 
but  he  has  had  four  more  glasses  of  negus  than  Giles.  Grund- 
sell,  the  occasional  waiter,  from  whom  Master  Tom  buys  quan- 
tities of  ginger-beer,  can  of  course  den}^  him  nothing.  That 
is  Grundsell,  in  the  tigl^ts,  with  the  tray.  Meanwhile  direct 
3^our  attention  to  the  three  gentlemen  at  the  door :  they  are 
conversing. 

1st  Gent.  — Who's  the  man  of  the  house  —  the  bald  man? 

2nd  Gent,  —  Of  course.  The  man  of  the  house  is  alwa3^s 
bald.    He's  a  stockbroker,  I  believe.    Snooks  brought  me. 

1^^  Gent.  —  Have  you  been  to  the  tea-room?  There's  a 
prett3^  girl  in  the  tea-room  ;  blue  eyes,  pink  ribbons,  that  kind 
of  thing. 

2nd  Gent.  —  Who  the  deuce  is  that  girl  with  those  tremen- 
dous shoulders?    Gad  !  I  do  wish  somebody  would  smack  'em. 

3rc?  Gent.  —  Sir  —  that  young  lady  is  my  niece,  sir,  —  my 
niece  —  m3^  name  is  Blades,  sir. 

2nd  Gent. — Well,  Blades!  smack  your  niece's  shoulders: 
she  deserves  it,  begad  !  she  does.  Come  in,  Jiuks,  present  me 
to  the  Perkinses. — Hullo!  here's  an  old  country  acquaintance 
—  Lady  Bacon,  as  I  live  !  with  all  the  piglings  ;  she  never  goes 
out  without  the  whole  litter.    (^Exeunt  \st  and  2nd  Gents,) 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


11 


LADY  BACON,  THE  MISS  BACONS,  MR.  FLAM. 

Lady  B,  —  Leonora  !  Maria  !  Amelia  !  here  is  the  gentle- 
man we  met  at  Sir  John  Porkington's. 

\_The  Misses  Bacon,  expecting  to  be  ashed  to  dance^  smile  simul- 
taneously^ aiid  begin  to  smooth  their  tuckers, ~\ 


Mr,  Flam,  —  Lady  Bacon  !  I  couldn't  be  mistaken  in  you! 
Won't  you  dance,  Lady  Bacon? 

Lady  B,  —  Go  away,  you  droll  creature  ! 


12 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


Mr,  Flam. — And  these  are  3'Our  ladyship's  seven  lovely 
sisters,  to  judge  from  their  likenesses  to  the  charming  Lad}^ 
Bacon  ? 

Lady     —  My  sisters,  he  !  he  !  my  daughters^  Mr.  Flam,  and 
they  dance,  don't  3'ou,  girls? 
The  Misses  Bacon.  —  O  yes  ! 

Mr,  Flam,  —  Gad  !  how  I  wish  I  was  a  dancing  man  ! 

[^Exit  Flam. 


MR.  LARKINS. 

I  HAVE  not  been  able  to  do  justice  (only  a  Lawrence  could 
do  that)  to  my  respected  friend  Mrs.  Perkins,  in  this  picture  ; 
but  Larkins's  portrait  is  considered  very  hke.  Adolphus  Lar- 
kins  has  been  long  connected  with  Mr.  Perkins's  City  establish- 
ment, and  is  asked  to  dine  twice  or  thrice  per  annum.  Even- 
ing-parties are  the 
great  enjoyment  of 
this  simple  youth,  who, 
after  he  has  walked 
from  Kentish  Town 
to  Thames  Street, 
and  passed  twelve 
hours  in  severe  labor 
there,  and  walked 
back  again  to  Kentish 
T o  w n  ,  fi n d s  no 
greater  pleasure  than 
to  attire  his  lean  per- 
son in  that  el(\gant 
evening  c  o  s  t  u  m  e 
which  you  see,  to  walk 
into  town  again,  and 
to  dance  at  anybody's 
house  who  will  invite 
him.  Lslington,  Pen- 
to  nville,  Somcrs 
Town,  are  the  scenes 
of  many  of  his  ex- 


MRS.  PEKKINS'S  BALL. 


13 


ploits ;  and  I  have  seen  this  good-natured  fellow  perform- 
ing figure-dances  at  Notting-hill,  at  a  house  where  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  there  was  no  supper,  no  negus  even  to  speak 
of,  nothing  but  the  bare  merits  of  the  polka  in  which  Adolphus 
revels.  To  describe  this  gentleman's  infatuation  for  dancing, 
let  me  say,  in  a  word,  that  he  will  even  frequent  boarding-house 
hops,  rather  than  not  go. 

•  He  has  clogs,  too,  like  Minchin  :  but  nobod}^  laughs  at  him. 
He  gives  himself  no  airs  ;  but  walks  into  a  house  with  a  knock 
and  a  demeanor  so  tremulous  and  humble,  that  the  servants 
rather  patronize  him.  He  does  not  speak,  or  have  any  par- 
ticular opinions,  but  when  the  time  comes,  begins  to  dance. 
He  bleats  out  a  word  or  two  to  his  partner  during  this  opera- 
tion, seems  ver}^  weak  and  sad  during  the  whole  performance, 
and,  of  course,  is  set  to  dance  with  the  ugliest  women  everj'- 
where. 

The  gentle,  kind  spirit !  when  I  think  of  him  night  after 
night,  hopping  and  jigging,  and  trudging  oflT  to  Kentish  Town, 
so  gently,  through  the  fogs,  and  mud,  and  darkness  :  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  ought  to  admire  him,  because  his  enjoyments 
are  so  simple,  and  his  dispositions  so  kindly  ;  or  laugh  at  him, 
because  he  draws  his  life  so  exquisitely  mild.  Well,  well,  we 
can't  be  all  roaring  lions  in  this  world  ;  there  must  be  some 
lambs,  and  harmless,  kindly,  gregarious  creatures  for  eating 
and  shearing.  See  !  even  good-natured  Mrs.  Perkins  is  leading 
up  the  trembling  Larkijis  to  the  tremendous  Miss  Bunion ! 


MISS  BUNION. 

The  Poetess,  author  of  Heartstrings,"  The  Deadly  Night- 
shade," Passion  Flowers,"  &c.  Though  her  poems  breathe 
only  of  love.  Miss  B.  has  never  been  married.  She  is  nearly  six 
feet  high  ;  she  loves  waltzing  beyond  even  poesy ;  and  I  think 
lobster-salad  as  much  as  either.  She  confesses  to  twentj'-eight ; 
in  which  case  her  first  volume,  The  Orphan  of  Gozo,"  (cut  up 
b}'^  Mr.  Rigby,  in  the  Quarterly,  with  his  usual  kindness,  (must 
have  been  published  when  she  was  three  years  old. 

For  a  woman  all  soul,  she  certainl}'  eats  as  much  as  any 


14 


MRS.  PEKKIXS'S  BALL. 


woman  I  ever  saw.  The  suffer- 
ings she  has  had  to  endure,  are, 
she  sa}  s,  be}  ond  compare  ;  the 
poems  which  she  writes  breathe 
a  withering  passion,  a  smould- 
ering despair,  an  agony  of  spirit 
that  would  melt  the  soul  of  a 
drayman,  were  he  to  read  thd^n. 
Well,  it  is  a  comfort  to  see  that 
she  can  dance  of  nights,  and  to 
know  (for  the  habits  of  illustri- 
ous literary  persons  are  always 
worth  knowing)  that  she  eats  a 
hot  mutton-chop  for  breakfast 
every  morning  of  her  blighted 
existence. 

She  lives  in  a  boarding- 
house  at  Brompton,  and  comes 
to  the  party  in  a  fly. 


MR.  HICKS. 

It  is  worth  twopence  to  see  Miss  Bunion  and  Poseidon  Hicks, 
the  great  poet,  conversing  with  one  another,  and  to  talk  of  one 
to  the  other  afterwards.  How  they  hate  each  other !  1  (in  my 
wicked  way)  have  sent  Ilicks  almost  raving  mad,  b}^  praising 
Bunion  to  him  in  confidence ;  and  you  can  drive  Bunion  out  of 
the  room  by  a  few  judicious  panegyrics  of  Hicks. 

Hicks  first  burst  upon  the  astonished  world  with  poems,  in 
the  B3Tonic  manner:  ''The  Death-Slunek,"  "The  Bastard  of 
Lara,"  "  The  Atabal,"  "  The  Fire-Ship  of  Botzaris,"  and  other 
works.  His  "  Love  Lays,"  in  Mr.  Moore's  early  style,  were  pro- 
nounced to  be  wonderfuU}^  precocious  for  a  3'oung  gentleman 
then  only  thirteen,  and  in  a  commercial  academ}^,  at  Tooting. 

Subsequently,  this  great  bard  became  less  passionate  and 
more  thoughtful;  and,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  wrote  "  Idiosyn- 
cracy"  (in  forty  books,  4to.)  :  "  Ararat,"  "  a  stupendous  epic," 
as  the  reviews  said;  and  "The  Megatheria,"  "a  magnificent 
contribution  to  our  pre-Adamite  literature,"  according  to  the 
same  authorities.    Not  having  read  these  works,  it  would  ill 


MRS.  FERKIXS'S  BALL. 


15 


become  me  to  judge  them  ;  but  I  know  that  poor  Jingle,  the 
publisher,  always  attributed  his  insolvenc}^  to  the  latter  epic, 
which  was  magnificently  printed  in  elephant  folio. 

Hicks  has  now  taken  a  classical  turn,  and  has  brought  out 
"  Poseidon,"  ''lac- 


chus,"  Hephaestus," 
and  I  dare  say  is  go- 
ing through  the  my- 
tholog3\  But  I  should 
not  like  to  try  him 
at  a  passage  of  the 
Greek  Delectus,  any 
more  than  twenty 
thousand  others  of  us 
who  have  had  a ' '  clas- 
sical education." 

Hicks  was  taken  in 
an  inspired  attitude, 
regarding  the  chande- 
lier, and  pretending 
he  didn't  know  that 
Miss  Pettifer  was 
looking  at  him. 

Her  name  is  Anna 
Maria  (daughter  of 
Higgs  and  Pettifer, 
solicitors ,  B  e  d  f  o  r  d 
Row)  ;  but  Hicks 
calls  her  lanthe  " 
in  his  album  verses,  and  is  himself  an  eminent  drysalter  in  the 
city. 


MISS  MEGGOT. 

Poor  Miss  Meggot  is  not  so  lucky  as  Miss  Bunion.  No- 
body comes  to  dance  with  her^  though  she  has  a  new  frock  on, 
as  she  calls  it,  and  rather  a  pretty  foot,  which  she  always 
manages  to  stick  out. 

She  is  forty-seven,  the  youngest  of  three  sisters,  who  live 
in  a  mouldy  old  house,  near  Middlesex  Hospital,  where  they 


16 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


have  lived  for  I  don't  know 
how  many  score  of  years  ;  but 
this  is  certain  :  the  eldest  Miss 
Meggot  saw  the  Gordon  Riots 
out  of  that  same  parlor  win- 
dow, and  tells  the  story  how 
her  father  (physician  to  George 
III.)  was  robbed  of  his  queue 
in  tlie  streets  on  that  occasion. 
The  two  old  ladies  have  taken 
the  brevet  rank,  and  are  ad- 
dressed as  Mrs.  Jane  and  Mrs. 
Betsy  :  one  of  them  is  at  whist, 
in  the  back  drawing-room. 
But  the  3'onngest  is  still  called 
Miss  Nanc}^,  and  is  consid- 
ered qnite  a  babj^  by  her 
sisters. 


She  was  going  to  be  mar- 
ried once  to  a  brave  j'oung  officer,  Ensign  Angus  Macquirk,  of 
the  Whistlebinkie  Fencibles  ;  but  he  fell  at  Quatre  Bras,  by  the 
side  of  the  gallant  Snuffmull,  his  commander.  Deeply,  deeplj^ 
did  Miss  Nancy  deplore  him. 

But  time  has  cicatrized  the  wounded  heart.  She  is  gay 
now,  and  would  sing  or  dance,  ay,  or  marr}^  if  anybody  asked 
her. 

Do  go,  my  dear  friend  —  I  don't  mean  to  ask  her  to  marry, 
but  to  ask  her  to  dance.  —  Never  mind  the  looks  of  the  thing. 
It  will  make  her  happ}^ ;  and  what  does  it  cost  3'ou?  Ah,  my 
dear  fellow !  take  this  counsel :  always  dance  with  the  old 
ladies  —  always  dance  with  the  governesses.  It  is  a  comfort 
to  the  poor  things  when  the}'  get  up  in  their  garret  that  some- 
body has  had  mercy  on  them.  And  such  a  handsome  fellow  as 
you  too ! 


Miss  Joy,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joy,  Mr.  Botter 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


17 


MISS  RANVILLE,  REV.  MR.  TOOP,  MISS  MULLINS, 
MR.  WINTER. 

Mr.  W.  —  Miss  Miillins,  look  at  Miss  Ranville  :  what  a  pic- 
ture of  good  humor. 

Miss  31,  —  Oh,  you  satirical  creature  ! 

Mr.  W.  — Do  you  know  wh}^  she  is  so  angry?  she  expected 
to  dance  with  Captain  Grig,  and  by  some  mistake,  the  Cam- 
bridge Professor  got  hold  of  her  :  isn't  he  a  handsome  man? 

Miss  M.  —  Oh,  you  droll  wretch  ! 

Mr.  W.  —  Yes,  he's  a  fellow  of  college  —  fellows  mayn't 
marry.  Miss  Mullins  —  poor  fellows,  ay,  Miss  Mullins? 
Miss  M.  —  La  ! 

Mr.  W. — And  Professor  of  Phlebotomy  in  the  University. 
He  flatters  himself  he  is  a  man  of  the  world,  Miss  Mullins,  and 
always  dances  in  the  long  vacation. 

Miss  M.  —  You  malicious,  wicked  monster  ! 

Mr.  W.  —  Do  3'ou  know  Lady  Jane  Ranville  ?  Miss  Ran- 
ville's  mamma.  A  ball  once  a  \'ear  ;  footmen  in  canary-colored 
livery :  Baker  Street ;  six  dinners  in  the  season  ;  starves  all 
the  year  round  ;  pride  and  povertj^  you  know  ;  I've  been  to 
her  ball  once.  Ranville  Ranville's  her  brother  ^  and  between 
you  and  me  —  but  this,  dear  Miss  Mullins,  is  a  profound  se- 
cret, —  I  think  he's  a  greater  fool  than  his  sister. 

Miss  M.  —  Oh,  you  satirical,  droU,  malicious,  wicked  thing 
you! 

Mr,  W.  —  You  do  me  injustice,  Miss  MulUns,  indeed  3'ou 

do. 

[^Chaine  Anglaise.~\ 


MISS  JOY,  MR.  AND  MRS.  JOY,  MR.  BOTTER. 

Mr.  B.  — What  spirits  that  girl  has,  Mrs.  Joy  ! 

Mr.  J.  —  She's  a  sunshine  in  a  house,  Botter,  a  regular 
sunshine.    When  Mrs.  J.  here's  in  a  bad  humor,  I  .  .  . 

Mrs,  J,  — Don't  talk  nonsense,  MrT  Joy. 

Mr,  B.  —  There's  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump  for  you  !  Why,  it 
beats  Ellsler !    Upon  my  conscience  it  does !    It's  her  four- 

2 


18 


MES.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


teenth  quadrille  too.  There  she  goes !  She's  a  jewel  of  a 
girl,  though  I  sa}^  it  that  shouldn't. 

Mrs,  J.  (laughing). — Why  don't  3^ou  marry  her,  Botter? 
Shall  I  speak  to  her?  I  dare  say  she'd  have  3'ou.  You're  not 
so  very  old. 

Mr,  B,  —  Don't  aggravate  me,  Mrs.  J.  You  know  when  I 
lost  my  heart  in  the  year  1817,  at  the  opening  of  Waterloo 
Bridge,  to  a  young  lad}"  who  wouldn't  have  me,  and  left  me  to 
die  in  despair,  and  married  Joy,  of  the  Stock  Exchange. 

Mrs,  J,  —  Get  away,  you  foolish  old  creature. 

[Mr.  Joy  holes  on  in  ecstasies  at  Miss  Joy's  agility.  Lady  Jane 
Ranville,  of  Baker  Street^  pronounces  her  to  be  an  exceedingly 
forward  person.  Captain  Dobbs  likes  a  girl  who  has  plenty  of 
go  in  her  ;  and  as  for  Fred  Sparks,  he  is  over  head  and  ears 
in  love  with  her.~\ 


MR.  RANVILLE  RANVILLE  AND  JACK  HUBBARD. 

This  is  Miss  Ranville  Ranville's  brother,  Mr.  Ranville  Ran- 
ville, of  the  Foreign  Office,  faithfully  designed  as  he  was  pla}'- 
ing  at  whist  in  the  card-room.  Talleyrand  used  to  play  at 
whist  at  the  Travellers',"  that  is  wh}^  Ranville  Ranville  in- 
dulges in  that  diplomatic  recreation.  It  is  not  his  fault  if  he 
be  not  the  greatest  man  in  the  room. 

If  you  speak  to  him,  he  smiles  sternly,  and  answers  in 
monosyllables  ;  he  would  rather  die  than  commit  himself.  He 
never  has  committed  himself  in  his  life.  He  was  the  first  at 
school,  and  distinguished  at  Oxford.  He  is  growing  prema- 
turel}'  bald  now,  like  Canning,  and  is  quite  proud  of  it.  He 
rides  in  St.  James's  Park  of  a  morning  before  breakfast.  He 
dockets  his  tailor's  bills,  and  nicks  oil  his  dinner-notes  in  dip- 
lomatic paragraphs,  and  kee[)s  precis  of  them  all.  If  he  ever 
makes  a  joke,  it  is  a  quotation  from  Horace,  like  Sir  Robert 
lY'el.  The  only  n^laxation  he  permits  himself,  is  to  read 
Thucydides  in  the  holidays. 

Everybody  asks  him  out  to  dinner,  on  account  of  his  brass- 
buttons  with  the  Queen's  (cipher,  and  to  have  the  air  of  being 
well  with  the  Foreign  Orticc.  Wliere  I  dine,"  he  says  sol- 
emnly, I  think  it  is  iny  duty  to  go  to  evc^ning-parties."  That 
is  why  he  is  here.    He  never  dances,  never  sups,  never  drinks. 


Mr.  Ranville  Ranville  and  Jack  Hcrbard. 


UBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


19 


He  has  gruel  when  he  goes  home  to  bed.  I  think  it  is  in  his 
brains. 

He  is  such  an  ass  and  so  respectable,  that  one  wonders  he 
has  not  succeeded  in  the  world  ;  and  yet  somehow  they  laugh 
at  him ;  and  you  and  I  shall  be  Ministers  as  soon  as  he  will. 

Yonder,  making  believe  to  look  over  the  print-books,  is  that 
merry  rogue,  Jack  Hubbard. 

See  how  jovial  he  looks  !  He  is  the  life  and  soul  of  every 
party,  and  his  impromptu  singing  after  supper  will  make  you 
die  of  laughing.  He  is  meditating  an  impromptu  now,  and  at 
the  same  time  thinking  about  a  bill  that  is  coming  due  next 
Thursday.    Happy  dog ! 


MES.  TROTTER,  MISS  TROTTER,  MISS  TOADY, 
LORD  METHUSELAH. 

Dear  Emma  Trotter  has  been  silent  and  rather  ill-humored 
all  the  evening  until  now  her  pretty  face  lights  up  with  smiles. 
Cannot  you  guess  why?  Pity  the  simple  and  affectionate 
creature  !  Lord  Methuselah  has  not  arrived  until  this  moment : 
and  see  how  the  artless  girl  steps  forward  to  greet  him  ! 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  selfishness  and  turmoil  of  the  world, 
how  charming  it  is  to  find  virgin  hearts  quite  unsullied,  and 
to  look  on  at  little  romantic  pictures  of  mutual  love  !  Lord 
Methuselah,  though  3'oa  know  his  age  b}'  the  peerage  —  though 
he  is  old,  wigged,  gout}^,  rouged,  wicked,  has  lighted  up  a  pure 
flame  in  that  gentle  bosom.  There  was  a  talk  about  Tom  Wil- 
loughby  last  3'ear ;  and  then,  for  a  time,  young  Plawbuck  (Sir 
John  Hawbuck's  youngest  son)  seemed  the  favored  man  ;  but 
Emma  never  knew  her  mind  until  she  met  the  dear  creature 
before  you  in  a  Rhine  steamboat.  ''Wh}'  are  you  so  late, 
Edward?"  says  she.    Dear  artless  child  ! 

Her  mother  looks  on  with  tender  satisfaction.  One  can  ap- 
preciate the  jo3^s  of  such  an  admirable  parent ! 

Look  at  them  !  "  sa3's  Miss  Toady.  "  I  vow  and  protest 
they're  the  handsomest  couple  in  the  room  !  " 

Methuselah's  grandchildren  are  rather  jealous  and  angr3',  and 
Mademoiselle  Ariane,  of  the  French  theatre,  is  furious.  But 
there's  no  accounting  for  the  mercenar3^  envy  of  some  people  ; 
and  it  is  impossible  to  satisfy  everybody. 


20 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


MR.  BEAUMORIS,  MR.  GRIG,  MR.  FLYNDERS. 

Those  three  young  men  are  described  in  a  twinkling :  Cap- 
tain Grig  of  the  Heavies  ;  Mr.  Beaumoris,  the  handsome  young 
man  ;  Tom  Flinders  (Flynders  Flynders  he  now  calls  himself), 
the  fat  gentleman  who  dresses  after  Beaumoris. 

Beaumoris  is  in  the  Treasury :  he  has  a  salary  of  eighty 
pounds  a  3'ear,  on  which  he  maintains  the  best  cab  and  horses 
of  the  season  ;  and  out  of  which  he  pa3's  seventy  guineas  merel}^ 
for  his  subscriptions  to  clubs.  He  hunts  in  Leicestershire, 
w^here  great  men  mount  him ;  he  is  a  prodigious  favorite 
behind  the  scenes  at  the  theatres  ;  you  ma}'  get  glimpses  of 
him  at  Richmond,  with  all  sorts  of  pink  bonnets  ;  and  he  is  the 
sworn  friend  of  half  the  most  famous  roues  about  town,  such 
as  Old  Methuselah,  Lord  Bilh'goat,  Lord  Tarquin,  and  the  rest : 
a  respectable  race.  It  is  to  oblige  the  former  that  the  good- 
natured  3'oung  fellow  is  here  to-night ;  though  it  must  not  be 
imagined  that  he  gives  himself  any  airs  of  superiority.  Dandy 
as  he  is,  he  is  quite  affable,  and  would  borrow  ten  guineas  from 
any  man  in  the  room,  in  the  most  jovial  way  possible. 

It  is  neither  Beau's  birth,  which  is  doubtful ;  nor  liis  mone}', 
which  is  entirel}'  negative  ;  nor  his  honesty,  which  goes  along 
with  his  nione^  -quaHfication  ;  nor  his  wit,  for  he  can  barely 
spell,  —  which  recommend  him  to  the  fashionable  world  :  but  a 
sort  of  Grand  Seigneur  splendor  and  dandified  je  ne  s(;ais  quoi, 
which  make  the  man  he  is  of  him.  The  wa}'  in  which  his  boots 
and  gk>ves  fit  him  is  a  wonder  which  no  other  man  can  achieve  ; 
and  though  he  has  not  an  atom  of  pi'inciple,  it  must  be  confessed 
tiiat  lie  invented  the  Taglioni  shirt. 

When  I  see  these  magnificent  dandies  3'awning  out  of 
White's,"  or  (caracoling  in  the  Park  on  shining  chargers,  I  like 
to  think  that  r)ruminell  was  the  greatest  of  them  all,  and  that 
BruinnieH's  father  was  a  footman. 

FI3  nders  is  Beaumoris's  toady :  lends  him  money :  buys 
horses  through  his  nH-ommendation  ;  dresses  after  him  ;  clings 
to  him  in  Pall  Mall,  and  on  the  ste[)S  of  the  club  ;  and  talks 
about  '  Ho'  in  all  societies.  It  is  his  drag  which  carries  down 
Bo's  fVicnds  to  the  Derby,  and  his  checjues  pay  for  dinners  to 
the  [)ink  bonnets.  J  don't  believe  the  lVrkins(»s  know  what  a 
rogu(;  it  is,  but  fancy  him  a  decent,  reputable  Cit}'  man,  like  his 
f:ilher  bcCoi-e  hini. 


Mr.  Beaumoris,  Mr.  Grig..  Mr.  Flynders. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


21 


As  for  Captain  Grig,  what  is  there  to  tell  about  him  ?  He 
performs  the  duties  of  his  ealUng  with  perfect  gravity.  He  is 
faultless  on  parade  ;  excellent  across  country  ;  amiable  when 
drunk,  rather  slow  when  sober.  He  has  not  two  ideas,  and  is 
a  most  good-natured,  irreproachable,  gallant,  and  stupid  young 
officer. 


CAVALIER  SEUL. 

This  is  my  friend  Bob  Hely,  performing  the  Cavalier  seul  in 
a  quadrille.  Remark  the  good-humored  pleasure  depicted  in 
his  countenance.  Has  he  any  secret  grief?  Has  he  a  pain 
anywhere?  No,  dear  Miss  J  ones,  he  is  dancing  like  a  true 
Briton,  and  with  all  the  charming  ga3^ety  and  abandon  of  our 
race. 

When  Canaillard  performs  that  Cavalier  seul  operation,  does 
he  flinch?  No:  he  puts  on  his  most  vainqueur  look,  he  sticks 
his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  advances, 
retreats,  pirouettes,  and  otherwise  gambadoes,  as  though  to 
say,  Regarde  moi,  O  monde  !  Venez,  O  femmes,  venez  voir 
danser  Canaillard ! " 

When  De  Bobwitz  executes  the  same  measure,  he  does  it 
with  smiling  agiUty,  and  graceful  ease. 

But  poor  Hely,  if  he  were  advancing  to  a  dentist,  his  face 
would  not  be  more  cheerful.  All  the  eyes  of  the  room  are  upon 
him,  he  thinks  ;  and  he  thinks  he  looks  like  a  fool. 

Upon  my  word,  if  \o\x  press  the  point  with  me,  dear  Miss 
Jones,  I  think  he  is  not  very  far  from  right.  I  think  that 
while  Frenchmen  and  Germans  may  dance,  as  it  is  their  nature 
to  do,  there  is  a  natural  dignit}'  about  us  Britons,  which  debars 
us  from  that  enjo3^ment.  I  am  rather  of  the  Turkish  opinion, 
that  this  should  be  done  for  us.    I  think  ... 

"  Good-b}',  3'ou  envious  old  fox-and-the-grapes,"  says  Miss 
Jones,  and  the  next  moment  I  see  her  whirling  by  in  a  polka 
with  Tom  Tozer,  at  a  pace  which  makes  me  shrink  back  with 
terror  into  the  little  boudoii'. 


22 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


M.  CANAILLARD,  CHEVALIER  OF  THE  LEGION 
OF  HONOR. 

LIEUTENANT  BARON  DE  BOBWITZ. 

Canaillard,  —  Oh,  ces  Anglais  !  quels  hommes,  mon  Dieu  ! 
Comme  ils  sont  habilles,  comme  ils  clansent ! 

Bohwitz,  —  Ce  sont  de  beaux  hommes  bourtant ;  point  de 

tenue  militaire,  mais  de  grands 
gaillards  ;  si  je  les  avals  dans 
ma  compagnie  de  la  Garde,  j'en 
feral  de  bons  soldats. 

Canaillard,  —  Est-il  bete, 
eet  AUemand !  Les  grands 
hommes  ne  font  pas  toujours 
de  bons  soldats,  Monsieur.  II 
me  semble  que  les  soldats  de 
France  qui  sont  de  ma  taille, 
Monsieur,  valent  un  peu 
mieux  .  .  . 

Bohwitz.  —  Vous  croyez  ? 
Canaillard,  —  Comment !  je 
le  crois,  Monsieur?    J'en  suis 
sdr  !    II  me  semble,  Monsieur, 
que  nous  Tavons  prouve. 

Bohwitz  {impatiently),  —  Je 
m'en  vais  danser   la  Bolka. 
Serviteur,  Monsieur. 
Canaillard.  —  Butor  !    (He  goes  and  looks  at  himself  in  the 
glass,  when  he  is  seized  by  Mrs.  Perkins  for  the  Folka.) 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


23 


THE  BOUDOIR. 
MR.    SMITH,  MR.  BROWN,  MISS  BUSTLETON. 


Mr.  Brown,— You  polk,  Miss  Bustleton?  Tm  5o  delaighted. 
Miss  Bustleton.  —  \_Smiles  and  prepares  to  rise.'] 

Mr.  Smith.  —  D  puppy. 

{Poor  Smith  dori't  polh.) 


24 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


GRAND  POLKA. 


Though  a  quadrille  seems  to  me  as  dreary  as  a  funeral,  yet 
to  look  at  a  polka,  I  own,  is  pleasant.  See  !  Brown  and  Emily 
Bustleton  are  whirling  round  as  light  as  two  pigeons  over  a 
dovecot ;  Tozer,  with  that  wicked  whisking  little  Jones,  spins 


along  as  merrily  as  a  May-daj^  sweep  ;  Miss  Joy  is  the  partner 
of  the  happy  Fred  Sparks  ;  and  even  Miss  Ranville  is  pleased, 
for  the  faultless  Captain  Grig  is  toe  and  heel  with  her.  Boau- 
moris,  with  rather  a  nonchalant  air,  takes  a  turn  with  Miss 
Trotter,  at  which  Lord  Mcthuseleh's  wrinkled  chops  quiver  un- 
easily. See  !  liow  the  big  Baron  de  Bobwitz  spins  lightly,  and 
gravel}',  and  graccfull}'  round  ;  and  lo  !  the  Frencliman  stagger- 
ing under  the  weight  of  Miss  Bunion,  who  tramps  and  kicks 
like  a  young  cart-liorse. 

But  the  most  awful  sight  which  met  my  view  in  this  dance 
was  the  unfortunate  Miss  Little,  to  whom  fate  had  assigned 
The  Mulligan  as  a  partner.  Like  a  i)avid  kid  in  the  talons 
of  an  eaghi,  that  young  creatun;  trembled  in  his  huge  Milesian 
grasp.  Disdaining  the  recognized  form  of  the  dance,  the  Irish 
chieftain  accommodated  the  nmsic  to  the  dance  of  his  own  green 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


25 


land,  and  performed  a  double  shuffle  jig,  carrying  Miss  Little 
along  with  him.  Miss  Ranville  and  her  Captain  shrank  back 
amazed  ;  Miss  Trotter  skirried  out  of  his  way  into  the  protec- 
tion of  the  astonished  Lord  Methuselah  ;  Fred  Sparks  could 
hardly  move  for  laughing;  while,  on  the  contrary.  Miss  Joy 
was  quite  in  pain  for  poor  Sophy  Little.  As  Canaillard  and 
the  Poetess  came  up.  The  MuUigan,  in  the  height  of  his  enthu- 
siasm, lunged  out  a  kick  which  sent  Miss  Bunion  howling ;  and 
concluded  with  a  tremendous  Plurroo  !  —  a  war-cry  which  caused 
every  Saxon  heart  to  shudder  and  quail. 

''Oh  that  the  earth  would  open  and  kindly  take  me  in!" 
I  exclaimed  mentally  ;  and  slunk  off  into  the  lower  regions, 
where  by  this  time  half  the  company  were  at  supper. 


THE  SUPPER. 

The  supper  is  going  on  behind  the  screen.  There  is  no  need 
to  draw  the  supper.  We  all  know  that  sort  of  transaction  :  the 
squabbling,  and  gobbling,  and  popping  of  champagne  ;  the  smell 
of  musk  and  lobster-salad  ;  the  dowagers  chumping  away  at 
plates  of  raised  pie  ;  the  young  lassies  nibbling  at  little  titbits, 
which  the  dexterous  3'oung  gentlemen  procure.  Three  large 
men,  like  doctors  of  divinit}^,  wait  behind  the  table,  and  furnish 
everything  that  appetite  can  ask  for.  I  ne\'er,  for  m}'  part,  can 
eat  an}'  supper  for  wondering  at  those  men.  I  believe  if  you 
were  to  ask  them  for  mashed  turnips,  or  a  slice  of  crocodile, 
those  astonishing  people  would  serve  you.  What  a  contempt 
they  must  have  for  the  guttling  crowd  to  whom  they  minister  — 
those  solemn  pastry-cook's  men  !  How  the}'  must  hate  jellies, 
and  game-pies,  and  champagne,  in  their  hearts  !  How  the}' 
must  scorn  my  poor  friend  Grundsell  behind  the  screen,  who  is 
sucking  at  a  bottle  ! 

This  disguised  green-grocer  is  a  very  w^ell-known  character  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Pocklington  Square.  He  waits  at  the  par- 
ties of  the  gentry  in  the  neigiiborhood,  and  though,  of  course, 
despised  in  families  where  a  footman  is  kept,  is  a  person  of 
much  importance  in  female  establishments. 

Miss  Jonas  always  employs  him  at  her  parties,  and  says  to 
her  page,  "Vincent,  send  the  butler,  or  send  Desborough  to 
me ; "  by  which  name  she  chooses  to  designate  G.  G. 


26 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


When  the  Miss  Frumps  have  post-horses  to  their  carriage, 
and  pay  visits,  Grundsell  always  goes  behind.  Those  ladies 
have  the  greatest  confidence  in  him,  have  been  godmothers  to 
fourteen  of  his  cliildren,  and  leave  their  house  in  his  charge 
when  they  go  to  Bognor  for  the  summer.  He  attended  those 
ladies  when  they  were  presented  at  the  last  drawing-room  of 
her  Majesty  Queen  Charlotte. 


GREEN-GROCER    AND  SALESMAN, 

9,  LITTLE  POCKLINGTON  BUILDINGS, 

LATE    CONFIDENTIAL    SERVANT    IN    THE    FAMILY  OF 

THE    LORD    MAYOR     OP  LONDON. 


6^  Carpets  Beat. — Knives  and  Boots  cleaned  per  contract. — Errands  faithfully 
performed. — G.  G.  attends  Ball  and  Dinner  parties,  and  from  his  knowledge 
of  the  most  distinguished  Families  in  London,  confidently  recommends  his 
services  to  the  distinguished  neighbourhood  of  Pocklin^ton  Square. 


Mr.  GrundselFs  state  costume  is  a  blue  coat  and  copper 
buttons,  a  white  waistcoat,  and  an  immense  frill  and  shirt-collar. 
He  was  for  many  3'ears  a  private  watchman,  and  once  can- 
vassed for  the  office  of  parish  clerk  of  St.  Peter's  Pocklington. 
He  can  be  intrusted  with  untold  spoons  ;  with  anything,  in  fact, 
but  liquor ;  and  it  was  he  who  brought  round  the  cards  for 
Mrs.  Perkins's  Ball. 


AFTER  SUPPER. 

I  DO  not  intend  to  say  an}'  more  about  it.  After  the  people 
had  supped,  they  went  back  and  danced.  Some  supped  again. 
I  gave  Miss  Bunion,  witli  my  own  hands,  four  bumpers  of 
champagne  :  and  such  a  (juantity  of  goose-liver  and  truffles, 
that  I  don't  wonder  she  took  a  glass  of  cherry-brand}^  after- 
wards. The  gray  morning  was  in  Pocklington  Square  as  she 
drove  away  in  her  fly.  So  did  the  other  people  go  away. 
How  green  and  sallow  some  of  the  girls  looked,  and  how 
awfully  clear  Mrs.  Colonel  Blndyer's  rouge  was!    Lady  Jane 


George  Grundsell.  Page  26. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  HIINOIS 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


27 


Ranville's  great  coach  had  roared  away  down  the  streets  long 
before.  Fred  Minchin  pattered  off  in  his  clogs  :  it  was  I  who 
covered  up  Miss  Meggot,  and  conducted  her,  with  her  two  old 
sisters,  to  the  carriage.  Good  old  souls  !  They  have  shown 
their  gratitude  b}^  asking  me  to  tea  next  Tuesday.  Methuselah 
is  gone  to  finish  the  night  at  the  club.  ''Mind  to-morrow," 
Miss  Trotter  says,  kissing  her  hand  out  of  the  carriage. 
Canaillard  departs,  asking  the  way  to  Lesterre  Squar."  They 
all  go  away  —  life  goes  away. 

Look  at  Miss  Martin  and  3'oung  Ward  !  How  tenderly  the 
rogue  is  wrapping  her  up  !  how  kindly  she  looks  at  him  !  The 
old  folks  are  whispering  behind  as  they  wait  for  their  carriage. 
What  is  their  talk,  think  3^ou?  and  when  shall  that  pair  make  a 
match?  When  you  see  those  pretty  little  creatures  with  their 
smiles  and  their  blushes,  and  their  prett}^  ways,  would  you  like 
to  be  the  Grand  Bashaw  ? 

Mind  and  send  me  a  large  piece  of  cake,"  I  go  up  and 
whisper  archly  to  old  Mr.  Ward  :  and  we  look  on  rather  senti- 
mentall}^  at  the  couple,  almost  the  last  in  the  rooms  (there, 
I  declare,  go  the  musicians,  and  the  clock  is  at  five)  —  when 
Grundsell,  with  an  air  entire,  rushes  up  to  me  and  saj^s,  "  For 
e'v'n  sake,  sir,  go  into  the  supper-room  :  there's  that  Hirish  gent 
a-pitchin'  into  Mr.  P." 


THE  MULLIGAN  AND  MR.  PERKINS. 

It  was  too  true.  I  had  taken  him  away  after  supper  (he 
ran  after  Miss  Little's  carriage,  who  was  dying  in  love  with 
him  as  he  fancied) ,  but  the  brute  had  come  back  again.  The 
doctors  of  divinity  were  putting  up  their  condiments  :  every- 
body was  gone  ;  but  the  abominable  Mulligan  sat  swinging  his 
legs  at  the  lonely  supper-table  ! 

Perkins  was  opposite,  gasping  at  him. 

The  Mulligan,  —  I  tell  ye,  ye  are  the  butler,  ye  big  fat 
man.  Go  get  me  some  more  champagne  :  it's  good  at  this 
house. 

Mr.  Perkins  {with  dignity), —It  is  good  at  this  house; 
but  

The  Mulligan,  —  Bht  hwhat,  ye  goggling,  bow- windowed 
jackass  ?  Go  get  the  wine,  and  we'll  dthrink  it  together,  my 
old  buck. 


28 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


Mr.  Perkins,  —  M}^  name,  sir,  is  Perkins. 

The  Mulligan,  —  Well,  that  rhj^mes  with  jerkins,  m}^  man  of 
firkins ;  so  don't  let  us  have  any  more  shirkings  and  lurkings, 
Mr.  Perkins. 

Mr,  Perkins  {with  apoplectic  energy) .  —  Sir,  I  am  the  master 
of  this  house  ;  and  I  order  you  to  quit  it.  I'll  not  be  insulted, 
sir.  ril  send  for  a  policeman,  sir.  What  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
Titmarsh,  sir,  by  bringing  this  —  this  beast  into  my  house, 
sir? 

At  this,  with  a  scream  like  that  of  a  Hyrcanian  tiger.  Mulli- 
gan of  the  hundred  battles  sprang  forward  at  his  prey  ;  but  we 
were  beforehand  with  him.  Mr.  Gregory,  Mr.  Grundsell,  Sir 
Giles  Bacon's  large  man,  the  young  gentlemen,  and  myself, 
rushed  simultaneous^  upon  the  tipsj'  chieftain,  and  confined 
him.  The  doctors  of  divinit}-  looked  on  with  perfect  indiffer- 
ence. That  Mr.  Perkins  did  not  go  off  in  a  fit  is  a  wonder. 
He  was  led  away  heaving  and  snorting  frightfiillj^ 

Somebody  smashed  Mulligan's  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  I  led 
him  forth  into  the  silent  morning.  The  chirrup  of  the  birds, 
the  freshness  of  the  ros}'  air,  and  a  penn'orth  of  coffee  that  I 
got  for  him  at  a  stall  in  the  Regent  Circus,  revived  him  some- 
what. When  I  quitted  him,  he  was  not  angry  but  sad.  He 
was  desirous,  it  is  true,  of  avenging  the  wrongs  of  Erin  in 
battle  line  ;  he  wished  also  to  share  the  grave  of  Sarsfield  and 
Hugh  O'Neill ;  but  he  was  sure  that  Miss  Perkins,  as  well  as 
Miss  Little,  was  desperately  in  love  with  him ;  and  I  left  him 
on  a  doorstep  in  tears. 

"  Is  it  best  to  be  laughing-mad,  or  crying-mad,  in  the  world?  " 
sa3^s  I  moodily,  coming  into  my  street.  Betsy  the  maid  was 
already  up  and  at  work,  on  her  knees,  scouring  the  steps,  and 
cheerfully  beginning  her  honest  dailj'  labor. 


TiiE  Mulligan  and  Mr.  Perkins 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


OUR  STREET. 

By  MR.  M.  A.  TITMARSH. 


OUR  STREET. 


Our  Street,  from  the  little  nook  which  I  occup}^  in  it,  and 
whence  I  and  a  fellow-lodger  and  friend  of  mine  cynically 
observe  it,  presents  a  strange  motley  scene.  We  are  in  a  state 
of  transition.  We  are  not  as  yet  in  the  town,  and  we  have  left 
the  country,  where  we  were  when  I  came  to  lodge  with  Mrs. 
Cammysole,  my  excellent  landlady.  I  then  took  second-floor 
apartments  at  No.  17,  Waddilove  Street,  and  since,  although  I 
have  never  moved  (having  various  little  comforts  about  me) , 
I  find  mys(  If  living  at  No.  46a,  Pocklington  Gardens. 

Why  is  this  ?  Why  am  I  to  pay  eighteen  shillings  instead 
of  fifteen?  I  was  quite  as  happy  in  Waddilove  Street ;  but  the 
fact  is,  a  great  portion  of  that  venerable  old  district  has  passed 
away,  and  we  are  being  absorbed  into  the  splendid  new  white- 
stuccoed  Doric-porticoed  genteel  Pocklington  quarter.  Sir 
Thomas  Gibbs  Pocklington,  M.  P.  for  the  borough  of  Lathan- 
plaster,  is  the  founder  of  the  district  and  liis  own  fortune. 
The  Pocklington  Estate  Office  is  in  the  Square,  on  a  line  with 
Waddil — with  Pocklington  Gardens  I  mean.  The  old  inn, 
the  "  Ram  and  Magpie,"  where  the  market-gardeners  used  to 
bait,  came  out  this  year  with  a  new  w^hite  face  and  title,  the 
shield,  &c.  of  the  "Pocklington  Arms."  Such  a  shield  it  is! 
Such  quarterings  !  Howard,  Cavendish,  De  Ros,  De  la  Zouche, 
all  mingled  together. 

Even  our  house,  46a,  which  Mrs.  Cammysole  has  had 
painted  white  in  compliment  to  the  Gardens  of  w^hich  it  now 
forms  part,  is  a  sort  of  impostor,  and  has  no  business  to  be 
called  Gardens  at  all.  Mr.  Gibbs,  Sir  Thomas's  agent  and 
nephew,  is  furious  at  our  daring  to  take  the  title  which  belongs 
to  our  betters.    The  very  next  door  (No.  46,  the  Honorable 


32 


OUR  STREET. 


Mrs.  Mountnoddy,)  is  a  house  of  five  stories,  shooting  up 
proudly  into  the  air,  thirty  feet  above  our  old  high-roofed  low- 
roomed  old  tenement.  Our  house  belongs  to  Captain  Bragg, 
not  onl}'  the  landlord  but  the  son-in-law  of  Mrs.  Cammysole, 
who  lives  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  down  the  street,  at  "  The 
Bungalow."  He  was  the  commander  of  the  "Ram  Chunder" 
East  Indiaman,  and  has  quarrelled  w^ith  the  Pocklingtons  ever 
since  he  bought  houses  in  the  parish. 

He  it  is  who  will  not  sell  or  alter  his  houses  to  suit  the 
spirit  of  the  times.  He  it  is  who,  though  he  made  the  widow 
Camm3'sole  change  the  name  of  her  street,  will  not  pull  down 
the  house  next  door,  nor  the  baker's  next,  nor  the  iron-bedstead 
and  feather  warehouse  ensuing,  nor  the  little  barber's  with  the 
pole,  nor,  I  am  ashamed  to  sa}^  the  tripe-shop,  still  standing. 
The  barber  powders  the  heads  of  the  great  footmen  from  Poek- 
lington  Gardens  ;  they  are  so  big  that  they  can  scarcely  sit  in 
his  little  premises.  And  the  old  tavern,  the  East  Indiaman," 
is  kept  by  Bragg's  ship-steward,  and  protests  against  the 
Pocklington  Arms." 

Down  the  road  is  Pocklington  Chapel,  Rev.  Oldham  Slocum 

—  in  brick,  with  arched  windows  and  a  wooden  belfry  :  sober, 
dingy,  and  hideous.  In  the  centre  of  PockUiigton  Gardens 
rises  St.  Waltheof 's,  the  Rev.  Cyril  Thuryfer  and  assistants 

—  a  splendid  Anglo-Norman  edifice,  vast,  rich,  elaborate,  bran 
new,  and  intensely  old.  Down  Avemary  Lane  you  may  hear 
the  clink  of  the  little  Romish  chapel  bell.  And  hard  by  is  a 
large  broad-shouldered  Ebenezer  (Rev.  Jonas  Gronow),  out  of 
the  windows  of  which  the  hymns  come  booming  all  Sunday 
long. 

Going  westward  along  the  line,  we  come  presently  to 
Comandine  House  (on  a  part  of  the  gardens  of  which  Coman- 
dine  Gardens  is  about  to  be  erected  by  his  lordship)  ;  farther 
on,  "The  Pineries,"  Mr.  and  Lady  Mary  Mango:  and  so  we 
get  into  the  country,  and  out  of  Our  Street  altogether,  as  I 
may  say.  P>ut  in  the  half-mile,  over  which  it  may  be  said  to 
extend,  we  find  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people  —  from  the 
Right  Honorable  Lord  Comandine  down  to  the  present  topog- 
rapher ;  who  being  of  no  rank  as  it  were,  has  the  fortune  to 
be  treated  on  almost  friendly  footuig  by  all,  from  his  lordship 
down  to  the  tradesman. 


OUR  STREET. 


33 


OUR  HOUSE  IN  OUR  STREET. 

We  must  begin  our  little  descriptions  where  they  say  charity 
should  begin  —  at  home.  Mrs.  Cammysole,  my  landlady,  will 
be  rather  surprised  when  she  reads  this,  and  finds  that  a  good- 
natured  tenant,  who  has  never  complained  of  her  impositions 
for  fifteen  years,  understands  every  one  of  her  tricks,  and 
treats  them,  not  with  anger,  but  with  scorn — with  silent 
scorn. 

On  the  18th  of  December,  1837,  for  instance,  coming  gently 
down  stairs,  and  before  my  usual  wont,  I  saw  you  seated  in 
my  arm-chair,  peeping  into  a  letter  that  came  from  my  aunt 
in  the  country,  just  as  if  it  had  been  addressed  to  you,  and 
not  to  M.  A.  Titmarsh,  Esq."  Did  I  make  any  disturbance? 
"far  from  it ;  I  slunk  back  to  m}^  bedroom  (being  enabled  to 
walk  silently  in  th6  beautiful  pair  of  worsted  slippers  Miss 

Penelope  J  s  worked  for  me  :  the^'  are  worn  out  now,  dear 

Penelope  !)  and  then  rattling  open  the  door  with  a  great  noise, 
descending  the  stairs,  singing  Son  vergin  vezzosa''  at  the  top 
of  my  voice.  You  were  not  in  my  sitting-room,  Mrs.  Cammy- 
sole, when  I  entered  that  apartment. 

You  have  been  reading  all  my  letters,  papers,  manuscripts, 
brouillons  of  verses,  inchoate  articles  for  the  Morning  Post  and 
Morning  Chronicle^  invitations  to  dinner  and  tea  —  all  my  fam- 
ily letters,  all  Eliza  Townley's  letters,  from  the  first,  in  which 
she  declared  that  to  be  the  bride  of  her  beloved  Michelagnolo 
was  the  fondest  wish  of  her  maiden  heart,  to  the  last,  in  which 
she  announced  that  her  Thomas  was  the  best  of  husbands,  and 
signed  herself Ehza  Slogger;"  all  Mary  Farmer's  letters,  all 
p:mily  Delamere's  ;  all  that  poor  foolish  old  Miss  MacWhirter's, 

whom  I  would  as  soon  marry  as  :  in  a  word,  I  know  that 

you,  you  hawk-beaked,  keen-ej^ed,  sleepless,  indefatigable  old 
Mrs.  Cammysole,  have  read  all  my  papers  for  these  fifteen 
years. 

I  know  that  3'ou  cast  your  curious  old  eyes  over  all  the 
manuscripts  which  you  find  in  my  coat-pockets  and  those  of 
my  pantaloons,  as  they  hang  in  a  drapery  over  the  door-handle 
of  my  bedroom. 

I  know  that  you  count  the  money  in  my  green  and  gold 
purse,  which  Lucy  Netterville  gave  me,  and  speculate  on  the 

3 


34 


OUR  STREET. 


manner  in  which  I  have  laid  out  the  difference  between  to-da}^ 
and  yesterda3\ 

I  know  that  you  have  an  understanding  with  the  laundress 
(to  whom  3'OU  say  that  3'ou  are  all-powerful  with  me),  threat- 
ening to  take  away  my  practice  from  her,  unless  she  gets  up 
gratis  some  of  your  fine  linen. 

I  know  that  we  both  have  a  penn3^worth  of  cream  for  break- 
fast, which  is  brought  in  in  the  same  little  can  ;  and  I  know  who 
has  the  most  for  her  share. 

I  know  how  manj^  lumps  of  sugar  you  take  from  each  pound 
as  it  ari-ives.  I  have  counted  the  lumps,  you  okl  thief,  and 
for  years  have  never  said  a  word,  except  to  Miss  Clapperclaw, 
the  first-floor  lodger.  Once  I  put  a  bottle  of  pale  brand}^  into 
that  cupboard,  of  which  you  and  I  onl3^  have  kej's,  and  the 
liquor  wasted  and  wasted  awa}^  until  it  was  all  gone.  You 
drank  the  whole  of  it,  you  wicked  old  woman.  You  a  lad}^, 
indeed ! 

1  know  3^our  rage  when  the}^  did  me  the  honor  to  elect  me  a 
member  of  the  Poluphloisboiothalasses  Club,"  and  I  ceased 
consequently  to  dine  at  home.  When  I  dul  dine  at  home,  — 
on  a  beefsteak  let  us  sa}',  —  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  had 
for  supper.  You  first  amputated  portions  of  the  meat  when 
raw  ;  you  abstracted  more  when  cooked.  Do  you  think  /  was 
taken  in  by  your  flimsy  pretences?  I  wonder  how  you  could 
dare  to  do  such  things  before  3'^our  maids  (you  a  clergyman's 
daughter  and  widow,  indeed),  whom  you  yourself  were  always 
charging  with  roguery. 

Yes,  the  insolence  of  the  old  woman  is  unbearable,  and  I 
must  break  out  at  last.  If  she  goes  off  in  a  fit  at  reading  this, 
I  am  sui'e  1  shan't  mind.  She  has  two  unhappy  wenches, 
against  whom  her  old  tongue  is  clacking  from  morning  till 
night :  she  pounces  on  them  at  all  hours.  It  was  but  this 
morning  at  eight,  when  poor  M0II3'  was  brooming  the  steps, 
and  the  baker  paying  her  })y  no  means  unmerited  compHments, 
that  m3'  landlady'  came  whirliug  out  of  the  ground-floor  front, 
and  sent  the;  i)oor  girl  whimpering  into  the  kitchen. 

Were  it  but  I'or  her  conduct  to  her  mnids  I  was  determined 
publicl3'  to  denounc(i  her.  These  poor  wretclu^s  she  causes  to 
lead  the  lives  of  demons  ;  and  not  content  with  bullying  them 
all  day,  she  sleeps  at  night  in  the  same  room  with  them,  so  that 
she  ma3'  have  them  up  before  da3'break,  and  scold  them  while 
they  are  dressing. 

Certain  it  is,  that  between  h(^r  and  Miss  Cla[)perclaw,  on  the 
first  floor,  the  poor  wenches  lead  a  dismal  lile. 


OUR  STREET. 


35 


It  is  to  3'0ii  that  I  owe  most  of  my  knowledge  of  our  neigh- 
bors ;  from  you  it  is  that  most  of  the  facts  and  observations 
contained  in  these  brief  pages  are  taken.  Many  a  night,  over 
our  tea,  have  we  talked  amiably  about  our  neighbors  and  their 
little  failings;  and  as  I  know  that  you  speak  of  mine  pretty 
freeh',  wh}',  let  me  sa}^,  my  dear  Bess}^  that  if  we  have  not 
built  up  Our  Street  between  us,  at  least  we  have  pulled  it  to 
pieces. 


THE  BUNGALOW— CAPTAIN  AND  MRS.  BRAGG. 

Long,  long  ago,  when  Our  Street  was  the  country  —  a  stage- 
coach between  us  and  London  passing  four  times  a  day  —  I  do 
not  care  to  own  that  it  was  a  sight  of  Flora  Camm^^sole's  face, 
under  the  card  of  her  ^mamma's  Lodgings  to  Let,"  which 
first  caused  me  to  become  a  tenant  of  Our  Street.  A  fine  good- 
humored  lass  she  was  then  ;  and  I  gave  her  lessons  (part  out  of 
the  rent)  in  French  and  flower-painting.  She  has  made  a  fine 
rich  marriage  since,  although  her  eyes  have  often  seemed  to  me 
to  say,  Ah,  Mr.  T.,  why  didn't  you,  when  there  was  3^et  time, 
and  we  both  of  us  were  free,  propose  —  you  know  what?'' 
Psha  !  Where  was  the  money,  my  dear  madam  ?  " 
Captain  Bragg,  then  occupied  in  building  Bungalow  Lodge 
—  Bragg,  I  sa}^,  living  on  the  first  floor,  and  entertaining  sea- 
captains,  merchants,  and  East  Indian  friends  with  his  grand 
ship's  plate,  being  disappointed  in  a  project  of  marrying  a 
director's  daughter,  who  was  also  a  second  cousin  once  removed 
of  a  peer,  —  sent  in  a  Ruy  for  Mrs.  Cammysole,  his  landlady, 
and  proposed  to  marry  Flora  off-hand,  and  settle  four  hundred 
a  year  upon  her.  Flora  was  ordered  from  the  back-parlor  (the 
ground-floor  occupies  the  second-floor  bedroom),  and  was  on 
the  spot  made  acquainted  w^ith  the  splendid  offer  which  the  first- 
floor  had  made  her.  She  has  been  Mrs.  Captain  Bragg  these 
twelve  3'ears. 

Bragg  to  this  day  wears  anchor-buttons,  and  has  a  dress- 
coat  with  a  gold  strap  for  epaulets,  in  case  he  should  have  a 
fancy  to  s[)ort  them.  His  house  is  covered  with  portraits, 
busts,  and  miniatures  of  himself.  His  wife  is  made  to  wear 
one  of  the  latter.    On  his  sideboard  are  pieces  of  plate,  pre- 


36 


OUR  STREET. 


sentecl  b}'  the  passengers  of  the  Ram  Chnnder to  Captain 
Bragg:  ''The  'Rain  Chimder'  East  Incliaman,  in  a  gale,  off 
Table  Ba}' ; "  ''The  Oiitwarcl-boiincl  Fleet,  under  convoy  of 
her  Majesty's  frigate  '  Lobloilyl)oy,'  Captain  Gutch,  beating 
off  the  French  squadron,  under  Commodore  Leloup  (the  '  Ram 
Chunder,'  8.E.  by  E.,  is  represented  engaged  with  the  '  Mirliton' 
corvette)  ;  "  ''  The  "  Ram  Chunder'  standing  into  the  Hooghly, 
with  Captain  Bragg,  his  telescope  and  speaking-trumpet,  on  the 
poop;"  Captain  Bragg  presenting  the  Oihcers  of  the  '  Ram 
Chunder'  to  General  Bonaparte  at  St.  Helena  —  Titmarsh  " 
(this  fine  piece  was  painted  by  me  w4ien  I  was  in  favor  with 
Bragg);  in  a  word,  Bragg  and  the  ''Ram  Chunder"  are  all 
over  the  house. 

Although  I  have  eaten  scores  of  dinners  at  Captain  Bragg's 
charge,  yet  his  hospitality  is  so  insolent,  that  none  of  us  who 
frequent  his  mahogany  feel  an}^  obligation  to  our  braggart 
entertainer. 

After  he  has  given  one  of  his  great  heavv  dinners  he  always 
takes  an  opportunit}^  to  tell  you,  in  the  most  public  way,  how 
man}'  bottles  of  wine  were  drunk.  His  pleasure  is  to  make  his 
guests  tipsy,  and  to  tell  everybody'  how  and  when  the  [)eriod 
of  inebriation  arose.  And  Miss  Clapperclaw  tells  me  that  he 
often  comes  over  laughing  and  giggling  to  her,  and  pretending 
that  he  has  brought  me  into  this  condition  —  a  calumnj^  which 
I  fling  contemptuously'  in  his  face. 

He  scarcely  gives  any  but  men's  parties,  and  invites  the 
whole  club  home  to  dinner.  What  is  the  compliment  of  being 
asked,  when  the  whole  club  is  asked  too,  I  should  like  to 
know?  Men's  parties  are  only  good  for  boys.  I  hate  a  dinner 
where  there  are  no  women.  Bragg  sits  at  the  head  of  his  table, 
and  bullies  the  solitary^  Mrs.  Bragg. 

He  entertains  us  with  stories  of  storms  which  he,  Bragg, 
encountered  —  of  dinners  which  he,  Bragg,  has  received  from 
the  Governor-General  of  India  —  of  jokes  which  he,  Bragg, 
has  heard  ;  and  however  stale  or  odious  they  ma}'  be,  poor  Mrs. 
B.  is  always  expected  to  laugh. 

Woe  be  to  her  if  she  doesn't,  or  ifslu^  laughs  at  anybody 
else's  jokes.  I  have  secin  l>rngg  go  u^)  to  her  and  squeeze  her 
arm  with  a  savage  grind  of  his  t(H'th,  and  say,  with  an  oath, 
"  Hang  it,  madam,  how  dare  you  laugh  when  any  man  but 
your  husband  speaks  to  you?  I  forbid  you  to  grin  in  that  way. 
I  forbid  you  to  look  sulky.  I  forbid  you  to  look  hap[)y,  or  to 
look  up,  or  to  k(5ep  your  ey(»s  down  to  the  ground.  I  desires 
you  will  not  be  trapesing  through  the  rooms.     I  order  you  not  to 


OUR  STREET. 


37 


sit  as  still  as  a  stone."  He  curses  her  if  the  wine  is  corked,  or 
if  the  dinner  is  spoiled,  or  if  she  comes  a  minute  too  soon 
to  the  club  for  him,  or  arrives  a  minute  too  late.  He  forbids 
her  to  walk,  except  upon  his  arm.  And  the  consequence  of 
his  ill  treatment  is,  that  Mrs.  Camm3'Sole  and  Mrs.  Bragg  re- 
spect him  beyond  measure,  and  think  him  the  first  of  human 
beings. 

1  never  knew  a  woman  who  was  constantl}-  bullied  b}^  her 
husband  who  did  not  like  him  the  better  for  it,"  Miss  Clapper- 
claw says.  And  though  this  speech  has  some  of  Clapp's  usual 
sardonic  humor  in  it,  I  can't  but  think  there  is  some  truth  in 
the  remark. 


LEVANT  HOUSE  CHAMBERS. 
MR.  RUMBOLD,  A.R.A.,  AND  MISS  RUMBOLD. 

When  Lord  Levant  quitted  the  country  and  this  neighbor- 
hood, in  which  the  tradesmen  still  deplore  him.  No.  56,  known 
as  Levantine  House,  was  let  to  the  Pococurante  Club,"  which 
was  speedily  bankrupt  (for  we  are  too  far  from  the  centre  of 
town  to  support  a  club  of  our  own)  ;  it  was  subsequently  hired 
by  the  West  Diddlesex  Railroad  ;  and  is  now  divided  into  sets 
of  chambers,  superintended  b}'  an  acrimonious  housekeeper,  and 
by  a  porter  in  a  sham  livery  :  whom,  if  you  don't  find  him  at 
the  door,  you  ma}'  as  well  seek  at  the  Grapes  "  public-house, 
in  the  little  lane  round  the  corner.  He  varnishes  the  japan- 
boots  of  the  dandy  lodgers  ;  reads  Mr.  Pinkney's  iMorning  Post 
before  he  lets  him  have  it ;  and  neglects  the  letters  of  the  in- 
mates of  the  chambers  generall}'. 

The  great  rooms,  which  were  occupied  as  the  salons  of  the 
noble  Levant,  the  coffee-rooms  of  the  Pococurante  "  (a  club 
where  the  pla}'  was  furious,  as  I  am  told),  and  the  board-room 
and  manager's-room  of  the  West  Diddlesex,  are  tenanted  now 
by  a  couple  of  artists  :  young  Pinkney  the  miniaturist,  and 
George  Rumbold  the  historical  painter.  Miss  Rumbold,  his  sis- 
ter lives  with  him,  l)y  the  way  ;  but  with  that  young  lady  of 
course  we  have  nothing  to  do. 

I  knew  both  these  gentlemen  at  Rome,  where  George  wore 
a  velvet  doublet  and  a  beard  down  to  his  chest,  and  used  to 


38 


OUR  STREET. 


talk  about  high  art  at  the  "  Caffe  Greco."  How  it  smelled  of 
smoke,  that  velveteen  doublet  of  his,  with  which  his  stringy 
red  beard  was  likewise  perfumed !  It  was  in  his  studio  that 
I  had  the  honor  to  be  introduced  to  his  sister,  the  fair  Miss 
Clara :  she  had  a  large  casque  with  a  red  horse-hair  plume  (I 
thought  it  had  been  a  wisp  of  her  brother's  beard  at  first), 
and  held  a  tin-headed  spear  in  her  hand,  representing  a  Roman 
warrior  in  the  great  picture  of  Caractacus  "  George  was  paint- 
ing—  a  piece  sixty-four  feet  b}-  eighteen.  The  Roman  warrior 
blushed  to  be  discovered  in  that  attitude  :  the  tin-headed  spear 
trembled  in  the  whitest  arm  in  the  world.  So  she  put  it  down, 
and  taking  off  the  helmet  also,  went  and  sat  in  a  far  corner 
of  the  studio,  mending  George's  stockings  ;  whilst  we  smoked 
a  couple  of  pipes,  and  talked  about  Raphael  being  a  good 
deal  overrated. 

I  think  he  is  ;  and  have  never  disguised  my  opinion  about 
the  Transfiguration."  And  all  the  time  we  talked,  there  were 
Clara's  eyes  looking  lucidly  out  from  the  dark  corner  in  which 
she  was  sitting,  working  away  at  the  stockings.  The  lucky 
fellow  !  They  were  in  a  dreadful  state  of  bad  repair  when  she 
came  out  to  him  at  Rome,  after  the  death  of  their  father,  the 
Reverend  Miles  Rumbold. 

George,  while  at  Rome,  painted  Caractacus  ;  "  a  picture  of 
'-Non  Angli  sed  Angeli"  of  course;  a  picture  of  ^'Alfred  in 
the  Neatherd's  Cottage,"  seventy-two  feet  by  forty-eight —  (an 
idea  of  the  gigantic  size  and  Michel-Angelesque  proportions  of 
this  picture  may  be  formed,  when  I  state  that  the  mere  mutlin, 
of  which  the  outcast  king  is  spoiUng  the  baking,  is  two  feet 
three  in  diameter)  ;  and  the  deaths  of  Socrates,  of  Remus,  and 
of  the  Christians  under  Nero  respectively.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  lovely  Clara  looked  in  white  muslin,  with  her  hair  down, 
in  this  latter  picture,  giving  herself  up  to  a  ferocious  Carnifex 
(for  which  Bob  Gaunter  the  architect  sat),  and  refusing  to 
listen  to  the  mild  suggestions  of  an  insinuating  Flamen  :  which 
chai'actcr  was  a  gross  caricature  of  myself. 

None  of  George's  pictures  sold,  ile  has  enough  to  tai)estry 
Trafalgar  Scjuare.  He  has  painted,  since  he  came  back  to 
England,  ^'Tlie  Flaying  of  Marsyas,"  '^Tlie  Smothering  of  the 
Little  Boys  in  ihi)  Towei-,"  "  A  Plague  Scene  during  the  Great 
Pestilence,"  IJgolinoon  Wut  Seventh  Day  after  he  was  deprived 
of  Victuals,"  &c.  For  although  these  pictures  have  great  merit, 
and  the  writhings  of  Marsyas,  the  convulsions  of  the  little 
prince,  the  look  of  agony  of  St.  Lawrence  on  the  gridiron,  &c. 
are  quite  true  to  nature,  yet  the  subjects  somehow  are  not  agree- 


OUR  STREET. 


39 


able  ;  and  if  he  hadn't  a  small  patrimon}',  my  friend  George  would 
starve. 

Fondness  for  art  leads  me  a  great  deal  to  his  studio.  George 
is  a  gentleman,  and  has  very  good  friends,  and  good  pluck  too. 
When  we  were  at  Rome,  there  was  a  great  row  between  him 
and  .young  Heeltap,  Lord  Boxmoor's  son,  who  was  uncivil  to 
Miss  Rumbold  ;  (the  young  scoundrel  —  had  I  been  a  fighting 
man,  I  should  like  to  have  shot  him  myself!).  Lady  Betty 
Bulbul  is  ver}^  fond  of  Clara ;  and  Tom  Bulbul,  who  took 
George's  message  to  Heeltap,  is  always  hanging  about  the 
studio.  At  least  I  know  that  I  find  the  young  jackanapes  there 
almost  every  da}^  bringing  a  new  novel,  or  some  poisonous 
French  poetry,  or  a  basket  of  flowers,  or  grapes,  with  Lady 
Betty's  love  to  her  dear  Clara  —  a  young  rascal  with  white  kids, 
and  his  hair  curled  every  morning.  What  business  has  he  to 
be  dangling  about  George  Rum  hold's  premises,  and  sticking  up 
his  ugly  pug-face  as  a  model  for  all  George's  pictures  ? 

Miss  Clapperclaw  says  Bulbul  is  evidentl}'  smitten,  and  Clara 
too.  What !  would  she  put  up  with  such  a  little  fribble  as  that, 
when  there  is  a  man  of  intellect  and  taste  who — but  I  won't 
believe  it.    It  is  all  the  jealousy  of  women. 


SOME  OF  THE  SERVANTS  IN  OUR  STREET. 

These  gentlemen  have  two  clubs  in  our  quarter  —  for  the 
butlers  at  the  Indiaman,"  and  for  the  gents  in  hvery  at  the 
PockUngton  Arms"  —  of  either  of  which  societies  I  should 
hke  to  be  a  member.  I  am  sure  they  could  not  be  so  dull  as 
our  club  at  the  Pohiphloisboio,"  where  one  meets  the  same 
neat,  clean,  respectable  old  fogies  every  day. 

But  with  the  best  wishes,  it  is  impossible  for  the  present 
writer  to  join  either  the  Plate  Club"  or  the  Uniform  Club" 
(as  these  reunions  are  designated)  ;  for  one  could  not  shake 
hands  with  a  friend  who  was  standing  behind  your  chair,  or  nod 
a  How-d'ye-do?  to  the  butler  who  was  pouring  you  out  a  glass 
of  wine  ;  —  so  that  what  I  know  about  the  gents  in  our  neigh- 
borhood is  from  mere  casual  observation.  For  instance,  I  have 
a  slight  acquaintance  with  (1)  Thomas  Spavin,  who  commonly 
wears  an  air  of  injured  innocence,  and  is  groom  to  Mr.  Joseph 


40  OUR  STREET. 

Green,  of  Our  Street.  "  I  tell  why  the  brougham  'oss  is 
out  of  condition,  and  wh}^  Desperation  broke  out  all  in  a 
lather  !  'Osses  will,  this  'eav}^  weather ;  and  Desperation  was 
always  the  most  mystest  boss  I  ever  see.  — /take  him  out  with 
Mr.  Anderson's  'ounds  —  I'm  above  it.  I  allis  was  too  timid 
to  ride  to  'ounds  by  natur ;  and  Colonel  Sprigs'  groom  as  says 
he  saw  me,  is  a  liar,"  &c.  &c. 

Such  is  the  tenor  of  Mr.  Spavin's  remarks  to  his  master. 
Whereas  all  the  world  in  Our  Street  knows  that  Mr.  Spavin 
spends  at  least  a  hundred  a  year  in  beer ;  that  he  keeps  a 
betting-book ;  that  he  has  lent  Mr.  Green's  black  brougham 
horse  to  the  omnibus  driver ;  and,  at  a  time  when  Mr.  G.  sup- 
posed him  at  the  veterinary  surgeon's,  has  lent  him  to  a  livery 
stable,  which  has  let  him  out  to  that  gentleman  himself,  and 
actually  driven  him  to  dinner  behind  his  own  horse. 

This  conduct  I  can  understand,  but  I  cannot  excuse  —  Mr. 
Spavin  may  ;  and  I  leave  the  matter  to  be  settled  betwixt  him- 
self and  Mr.  Green. 

The  second  is  Monsieur  Sinbad,  Mr.  Clarence  Bulbul's  man, 
whom  we  all  hate  Clarence  for  keeping. 

Mr.  Sinbad  is  a  foreigner,  speaking  no  known  language,  but 
a  mixture  of  every  European  dialect  —  so  that  he  may  be  an 
Italian  brigand,  or  a  Tyrolese  minstrel,  or  a  Spanish  smuggler, 
for  what  we  know.  I  have  heard  say  that  he  is  neither  of 
these,  but  an  Irish  Jew. 

He  wears  studs,  hair-oil,  jewellery,  and  linen  shirt-fronts, 
ver}^  finely  embroidered,  but  not  particular  for  whiteness.  He 
generally  appears  in  faded  velvet  waistcoats  of  a  morning,  and 
is  always  perfumed  with  stale  tobacco.  He  wears  large  rings 
on  his  hands,  wiiich  look  as  if  he  kept  them  up  the  chimney. 

He  does  not  appear  to  do  anything  earth  1}^  for  Clarence 
Bulbul,  except  to  smoke  his  cigars,  and  to  practise  on  his 
guitar.  He  will  not  answer  a  bell,  nor  fetch  a  glass  of  water, 
nor  go  of  an  errand  :  on  which,  au  i^esfe,  Clarence  dares  not 
send  him,  being  entirely  afraid  of  his  servant,  and  not  daring 
to  use  him,  or  to  abuse  him,  or  to  send  him  away. 

3.  Adams  —  Mr.  (Jliam[)ignon's  man  —  a  good  old  man  in' 
an  old  livery  coat  with  old  worsted  lace  —  so  very  old,  deaf, 
surly,  and  faithful,  that  you  wonder  how  he  should  have  got 
into  the  family  at  all  ;  who  never  kept  a  footman  till  last  year, 
when  the}^  came  into  the  street. 

Miss  Clai)perclaw  says  she  believes  Adams  to  be  Mrs. 
Champignon's  father,  and  he  certainly  has  a  look  of  that  lady  ; 
as  Miss  C.  point(?d  out  to  me  at  dinner  one  night,  whilst  old 


OUR  STREirr 


41 


Adams  was  blundering  about  amongst  the  hired  men  from 
Gunter's,  and  falling  over  the  silver  dishes. 

4.  Fipps,  the  buttoniest  page  in  all  the  street :  walks  behind 
Mrs.  Grimsby  with  her  pi"ayer-book,  and  proteets  her. 

If  that  woman  wants  a  protector"  (a  female  acquaintance 
remarks),  "  heaven  be  good  to  us  !  She  is  as  big  as  an  ogress, 
and  has  an  upper  lip  which  many  a  cornet  of  the  Lifeguards 
might  envy.  Her  poor  dear  Imsband  was  a  big  man,  and  she 
could  beat  him  easily;  and  did  too.  Mrs.  Grimsb}^  indeed! 
Whj',  my  dear  Mr.  Titmarsh,  it  is  Glumdalca  walking  with  Tom 
Thumb." 

This  observation  of  Miss  C.'s  is  very  true,  and  Mrs.  Grimsbj- 
might  carr}'  her  prayer-book  to  church  herself.  But  Miss 
Clapperclaw,  who  is  pretty  well  able  to  take  care  of  herself  too, 
was  glad  enough  to  have  the  protection  of  the  page  when  she 
went  out  in  the  fl}'  to  pay  visits,  and  before  Mrs.  Grimsbj^  and 
she  quarrelled  at  whist  at  Lad}^  Pocklington's. 

After  this  merely  parenthetic  observation,  we  come  to  5, 
one  of  her  ladyship's  large  men,  Mr.  Jeames  —  a  gentleman  of 
vast  stature  and  proportions,  who  is  almost  nose  to  nose  with 
us  as  w^e  pass  her  ladyship's  door  on  the  outside  of  the  omnibus. 
I  think  Jeames  has  a  contempt  for  a  man  whom  he  witnesses 
in  that  position.  I  have  fancied  something  like  that  feeling 
showed  itself  (as  far  as  it  may  in  a  well-bred  gentleman  accus- 
tomed to  society)  in  his  behavior,  while  waiting  behind  my 
chair  at  dinner. 

But  I  take  Jeames  to  be,  like  most  giants,  good-natured, 
laz}',  stupid,  soft-hearted,  and  extremel}'  fond  of  drink.  One 
night,  his  lad\'  being  engaged  to  dinner  at  Nightingale  House, 
I  saw  Mr.  Jeames  resting  himself  on  a  bench  at  the  ''Pock- 
lington  Arms  :  "  where,  as  he  had  no  liquor  before  him,  he  had 
probably  exhausted  his  credit. 

Little  Spitfire,  Mr.  Clarence  Bulbul's  hoy,  the  wickedest 
little  varlet  that  ever  hung  on  to  a  cab,  was  ''chaffing"  Mr. 
Jeames,  holding  up  to  his  face  a  pot  of  porter  almost  as  big  as 
the  young  potifer  himself. 

'^Vill  you  now,  Big'un,  or  von't  you?"  Spitfire  said.  "If 
3'ou're  thirsty,  vy  don't  you  say  so  and  squench  it,  old  boy?" 

''  Don't  ago  on  making  fun  of  me  —  I  can't  abear  chaffin'," 
was  the  repl}'  of  Mr.  Jeames,  and  tears  actually  stood  in  his 
fine  eyes  as  he  looked  at  the  porter  and  the  screeching  little 
imp  before  him. 

Spitfire  (real  name  unknown)  gave  him  some  of  the  drink  : 
I  am  happy  to  sa}^  Jeames's  face  wore  quite  a  ditierent  look 


42 


OUR  STREET. 


when  it  rose  gasping  out  of  the  porter ;  and  I  judge  of  his 
dispositions  from  the  above  trivial  incident. 

The  last  boy  in  the  sketch,  6,  need  scarcely  be  particularized. 
Doctor's  boy  ;  was  a  charity-boy  ;  stripes  evidently  added  on 
to  a  pair  of  the  doctor's  clothes  of  last  year  —  Miss  Clapper- 
claw pointed  this  out  to  me  with  a  giggle.  Nothing  escapes 
that  old  woman. 

As  we  were  walking  in  Kensington  Gardens,  she  pointed 
me  out  Mrs.  Bragg's  nurseiy-maid,  who  sings  so  loud  at  church, 
engaged  with  a  Lifeguardsman,  whom  she  was  trying  to  con- 
vert probably.  My  virtuous  friend  rose  indignant  at  the 
sight. 

"  That's  why  these  minxes  like  Kensington  Gardens,"  she 
cried.  ''Look  at  the  woman:  she  leaves  the  baby  on  the 
grass,  for  the  giant  to  trample  upon ;  and  that  little  wretch  of 
a  Hastings  Bragg  is  riding  on  the  monster's  cane." 

Miss  C.  flew  up  and  seized  the  infant,  waking  it  out  of  its 
sleep,  and  causing  all  the  gardens  to  echo  with  its  squalling. 
"  I'll  teach  you  to  be  impudent  to  me,"  she  said  to  the  nursery- 
maid, w^th  whom  my  vivacious  old  friend,  I  suppose,  has  had 
a  difference  ;  and  she  would  not  release  the  infant  until  she  had 
rung  the  bell  of  Bungalow  Lodge,  where  she  gave  it  up  to  the 
footman. 

The  giant  in  scarlet  had  slunk  down  towards  Knightsbridge 
meanwhile.  The  big  rogues  are  always  crossing  the  Park  and 
the  Gardens,  and  hankering  about  Our  Street. 


WHAT  SOMETIMES  HAPPENS  IN  OUR  STREET. 

It  was  before  old  Ilunkington's  house  that  the  mutes  were 
standing,  as  I  passed  and  saw  this  group  at  the  door.  The 
charity-boy  with  the  hoop  is  the  son  of  the  jolly-looking  mute  ; 
he  admires  his  fatlu^r,  who  admires  himself  too,  in  those  bran- 
new  sables.  The  other  infants  are  the  spawn  of  the  alleys  about 
Our  Street.  Only  the  parson  and  the  tyi)hus  fever  visit  those 
mysterious  haunts,  whi(;h  lie  crouched  about  our  splendid  houses 
like  Lazarus  at  the  threshold  of  Dives. 

Those  little  ones  come  crawling  abroad  in  the  sunshine,  to 
the  annoyance  of  the  beadles,  and  the  horror  of  a  number  of 
good  people  in  the  street.    Th(;y  will  bring  up  the  rear  of  the 


Why  our  Nursemaids  like  Kensington  Gardens. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


OUR  STREET. 


43 


procession  anon,  when  the  grand  omnibus  with  the  feathers, 
and  the  fine  coaches  with  the  long-tailed  black  horses,  and  the 
gentlemen's  private  carriages  with  the  shutters  up,  pass  along 
to  Saint  Waltheof's. 

You  can  hear  the  slow  bell  tolling  clear  in  the  sunshine 
already,  mingling  with  the  crowing  of  Punch,"  who  is  passing 
down  the  street  with  his  show  ;  and  the  two  musics  make  a 
queer  medley. 

Not  near  so  many  people,  I  remark,  engage  "  Punch"  now 
as  in  the  good  old  times.  I  suppose  our  quarter  is  growing  too 
genteel  for  him. 

Miss  Bridget  Jones,  a  poor  curate's  daughter  in  Wales, 
comes  into  all  Hunkington's  propert}^  and  will  take  his  name, 
as  I  am  told.  Nobodj^  ever  heard  of  her  before.  I  am  sure 
Captain  Hunkington,  and  his  brother  Barnwell  Hunkington, 
must  wish  that  the  luck}'  3'oung  lady  had  never  been  heard  of 
to  the  present  da}^ 

But  the}^  will  have  the  consolation  of  thinking  that  the}'  did 
their  duty  by  their  uncle,  and  consoled  his  declining  years. 
It  was  but  last  month  that  Millwood  Hunkington  (the  Captain) 
sent  the  old  gentleman  a  service  of  plate  ;  and  Mrs.  Barnwell 
got  a  reclining  carriage  at  a  great  expense  from  Hobbs  and 
Dobbs's,  in  which  the  old  gentleman  went  out  onlv  once. 

It  is  a  punishment  on  those  Hunkingtons,"  Miss  Clapper- 
claw remarks:  ''upon  those  people  who  have  been  always 
living  be3'ond  their  little  incomes,  and  always  speculating  upon 
what  the  old  man  would  leave  them,  and  always  coaxing  him 
with  presents  which  the}'  could  not  afford,  and  he  did  not 
want.  It  is  a  punishment  upon  those  Hunkingtons  to  be  so 
disappointed." 

"Think  of  giving  him  plate,"  Miss  C.  justly  says,  "who 
had  chests-full ;  and  sending  him  a  carriage,  who  could  afford 
to  buy  all  Long  Acre.  And  everything  goes  to  Miss  Jones 
Hunkington.  I  wonder  wull  she  give  the  things  back  ?"  Miss 
Clapperclaw  asks.    "  I  wouldn't." 

And  indeed  I  don't  think  Miss  Clapperclaw  would. 


44 


OUR  STREET. 


SOMEBOBY  WHOM  NOBODY  KNOWS. 

That  prettj^  little  house,  the  last  in  Pocklington  Square, 
was  latclj'  occupied  b}"  a  young  widow  lad}'  who  wore  a  pink 
bonnet,  a  short  silk  dress,  sustained  by  a  crinoline,  and  a  light 
blue  mantle,  or  over-jacket  (Miss  C.  is  not  here  to  tell  me  the 
name  of  the  garment)  ;  or  else  a  black  vejvet  pelisse,  a  yellow 
shawl,  and  a  white  bonnet ;  or  else  —  but  never  mind  the  dress, 
which  seemed  to  be  of  the  handsomest  sort  mone}'  could  buy  — 
and  who  had  very  long  glossy  black  ringlets,  and  a  peculiarly 
brilliant  complexion,  —  No.  96,  Pocklington  Square,  I  say, 
was  lately  occupied  by  a  widow  lady  named  Mrs.  Stafford 
Molyneux. 

The  very  first  day  on  w^hich  an  intimate  and  valued  female 
friend  of  mine  saw  Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux  stepping  into  a 
brougham,  with  a  splendid  l)ay  horse,  and  without  a  footman, 
(mark,  if  you  please,  that  delicate  sign  of  respectabilit}^)  and 
after  a  moment's  examination  of  Mrs.  S.  M.'s  toilette,  her 
manners,  little  dog,  carnation- colored  parasol,  &c..  Miss  Eliza- 
beth Clapperclaw  clapped  to  the  opera-glass  with  which  she 
had  been  regarding  the  new  inhabitant  of  Our  Street,  came 
away  from  the  window  in  a  great  fiurr}',  and  began  poking  her 
tire  in  a  fit  of  virtuous  indignation. 

''She's  very  pretty,"  said  I,  who  had  been  looking  over 
Miss  C.'s  shoulder  at  the  widow  with  the  flashing  eyes  and 
drooping  ringlets. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  Miss  Clapperclaw,  tossing  up 
her  virgin  head  with  an  indignant  blush  on  her  nose.  "  It's  a 
sin  and  a  shame  that  such  a  creature  should  be  riding  in  her 
carriage,  forsooth,  when  honest  people  must  go  on  foot." 

Subsequent  observations  confirmed  my  revered  fellow- 
lodger's  anger  and  o[)inion.  We  have  watched  Hansom  cabs 
staiiding  l)efore  that  lady's  house  for  hours ;  we  have  seen 
broughams,  with  great  flaring  eyes,  ke(^ping  watch  there  in  the 
darkness  ;  we  have  se(m  the  vans  from  the  comestible-shops 
drive  up  and  discharge  loads  of  wines,  groceries,  French  plums, 
and  other  articles  of  luxurious  horror.  We  have  seen  Count 
Wowski's  drag,  Lord  Miirtingale's  carriage,  Mr.  Deuceace's 
cab  drive  up  there  time  after  time ;  and  (having  remaiked 
previously  the  pastry-cook's  men  arrive  with  the  trays  and 
entrees)  y  we  have  known  that  this  widow  was  giving  dinners  at 


OUR  STREET. 


45 


the  little  house  in  Pocklington  Square  —  dinners  such  as  decent 
people  could  not  hope  to  enjo3^ 

My  excellent  friend  lias  been  in  a  perfect  fury  when  Mrs. 
Stafford  Molyneux,  in  a  black  velvet  riding-habit,  with  a  hat 
and  feather,  has  come  out  and  mounted  an  odious  gray  horse, 
and  has  cantered  down  the  street,  followed  by  her  groom  upon 
a  ba}'. 

''It  won't  last  long — it  must  end  in  shame  and  humilia- 
tion," my  dear  Miss  C.  has  remarked,  disappointed  that  the  tiles 
and  chimney-pots  did  4iot  fall  down  upon  Mrs.  Stafford  Moly- 
neux's  head,  and  crush  that  cantering,  audacious  woman. 

But  it  was  a  consolation  to  see  her  when  she  walked  out 
with  a  French  maid,  a  couple  of  children,  and  a  little  dog 
hanging  on  to  her  by  a  blue  ribbon.  She  always  held  down 
her  head  then  —  her  head  with  the  drooping  black  ringlets. 
The  virtuous  and  well-disposed  avoided  her.  1  have  seen  the 
Square-keeper  himself  look  puzzled  as  she  passed  ;  and  Lady 
Kicklebury  walking  by  with  Miss  K.,  her  daughter,  turn  away 
from  Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux,  and  fling  back  at  her  a  ruthless 
Parthian  glance  that  ought  to  have  killed  any  woman  of  decent 
sensibility. 

That  wretched  woman,  meanwhile,  with  her  rouged  cheeks 
(for  rouge  it  Z5,  Miss  Clapperclaw  swears,  and  who  is  a  better 
judge?)  has  w^alked  on  conscious,  and  yet  somehow  braving 
out  the  Street.  You  could  read  pride  of  her  beauty,  pride  of 
her  fine  clothes,  shame  of  her  position,  in  her  downcast  black 
eyes. 

As  for  Mademoiselle  Trampoline,  her  French  maid,  she 
would  stare  the  sun  itself  out  of  countenance.  One  day  she 
tossed  up  her  head  as  she  passed  under  our  windows  with  a 
look  of  scorn  that  drove  Miss  Clapperclaw  back  to  the  fire- 
place again. 

It  was  Mrs.  Stafford  Mol3'neux's  children,  however,  whom 
I  pitied  the  most.  Once  her  boy,  in  a  flaring  tartan,  went  up 
to  speak  to  Master  Roderick  Lacy,  whose  maid  was  engaged 
ogling  a  policeman  ;  and  the  children  were  going  to  "make 
friends,  being  united  with  a  hoop  which  Master'^Iolyneux  had, 
when  Master  Roderick's  maid,  rushing  up,  clutched  her  charge 
to  her  arms,  and  hurried  away,  leaving  little  Molyneux  sad 
and  wondering. 

Why  won't  he  play  with  me,  mamma?"  Master  Molyneux 
asked  —  and  his  mother's  face  blushed  purple  as  she  walked 
away. 

Ah  —  heaven  help  us  and  forgive  us  !  "  said  I ;  but  Miss 


46 


OUR  STREET. 


C.  can  never  forgive  the  mother  or  child  ;  and  she  clapped  her 
hands  for  jo}^  one  day  when  we  saw  the  shutters  up,  bills  in  the 
windows,  a  carpet  hanging  out  over  the  balcon}^,  and  a  crowd 
of  shabb}^  Jews  about  the  steps  —  giving  token  that  the  reign 
of  Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux  was  over.  The  pastr3'-cooks  and 
their  trays,  the  bay  and  the  gray,  the  brougham  and  the  groom, 
the  noblemen  and  their  cabs,  were  all  gone  ;  and  the  tradesmen 
in  the  neighborhood  were  crying  out  that  they  were  done. 

''Serve  the  odious  minx  right!"  says  Miss  C.  ;  and  she 
played  at  piquet  that  night  with  more  v4gor  than  I  have  known 
her  manifest  for  these  last  ten  years. 

What  is  it  that  makes  certain  old  ladies  so  savage  upon 
certain  subjects?  Miss  C.  is  a  good  woman  ;  pays  her  rent  and 
her  tradesmen  ;  gives  plenty  to  the  poor ;  is  brisk  with  her 
tongue  —  kind-hearted  in  the  main  ;  but  if  Mrs.  Stafford  Moly- 
neux and  her  children  were  plunged  into  a  caldron  of  boiling 
vinegar,  I  think  my  revered  friend  would  not  take  them  out. 


THE  MAN  IN  POSSESSION. 

For  another  misfortune  which  occurred  in  Our  Street  we 
were  much  more  compassionate.  We  liked  Danby  Dixon,  and 
his  wife  Fanny  Dixon  still  more.  Miss  C.  had  a  paper  of  bis- 
cuits and  a  box  of  preserved  apricots  alwa3's  in  the  cupboard, 
ready  for  Dixon's  children  —  provisions  by  the  wa}'  which  she 
locked  up  under  Mrs.  Cammj^sole's  nose,  so  that  our  landladj^ 
could  by  no  possibility  lay  a  hand  on  them. 

Dixon  and  his  wife  had  the  neatest  little  house  possible, 
(No.  IG,  opposite  96,)  and  were  liked  and  respected  by  the 
whole  street.  He  was  called  Dandy  Dixon  when  he  was  in  the 
Dragoons,  and  was  a  light  weight,  and  rather  famous  as  a 
g(mtleman  rider.  On  his  marriage,  he  sold  out  and  got  fat ; 
and  was  indeed  a  florid,  contented,  and  jovial  gentleman. 

1 1  is  litthi  wife  was  charming  —  to  see  her  in  i)ink  with  some 
miniature  Dixons,  in  i)ink  too,  round  about  her,  or  in  that 
beautiful  gi'ay  dress,  with  the  deep  black  lace  flounces,  which 
she  wore  at  my  Lord  Comandine's  on  the  night  of  the  private 
theatricals,  would  have  done  any  man  good.  To  hear  her  sing 
any  of  my  little  ballads,  Knowest  Thou  the  Willow-tree?" 
for  instance,  or  ''  The  Rose  upon  my  Balcony,"  oi'  "  The  Hum- 


OUR  STREET. 


47 


ming  of  the  Hone3^-bee,''  (far  superior  in  //zy  judgment,  and  in 
that  some  good  judges  likewise,  to  that  humbug  Clarence  Bul- 
bul's  ballads,)  —  to  hear  her,  I  sa^^  sing  these,  was  to  be  in  a 
sort  of  small  Elysium.  Dear,  dear  little  Fanny  Dixon!  she 
was  like  a  little  chirping  bird  of  Paradise.  It  was  a  shame 
that  storms  should  ever  ruffle  such  a  tender  plumage. 

Well,  never  mind  about  sentiment.  Danby  Dixon,  the 
owner  of  this  little  treasure,  an  ex-captain  of  Dragoons,  and 
having  nothing  to  do,  and  a  small  income,  wiseh^  thought  he 
would  employ  his  spare  time,  and  increase  his  revenue.  He 
became  a  director  of  the  Cornaro  Life  Insurance  Company,  of 
the  Tregulpho  tin-mines,  and  of  four  or  five  railroad  companies. 
It  was  amusing  to  see  him  swaggering  about  the  City  in  his 
clinking  boots,  and  with  his  high  and  mighty  dragoon  manners. 
For  a  time  his  talk  about  shares  after  dinner  was  perfectly 
intolerable  ;  and  I  for  one  was  alwaj^s  glad  to  leave  him  in  the 
company  of  sundry  very  dubious  capitalists  who  frequented  his 
house,  and  walk  up  to  hear  Mrs.  Fanny  warbling  at  the  piano 
with  her  little  children  about  her  knees. 

It  was  only  last  season  that  they  set  up  a  carriage  —  the 
modestest  little  vehicle  conceivable  —  driven  by  Kirby,  who 
had  been  in  Dixon's  troop  in  the  regiment,  and  had  followed 
him  into  private  life  as  coachman,  footman,  and  page. 

One  day  lately  I  went  into  Dixon's  house,  hearing  that  some 
calamities  had  befallen  him,  the  particulars  of  which  Miss  Clap- 
perclaw was  desirous  to  know.  The  creditors  of  the  Tregulpho 
Mines  had  got  a  verdict  against  him  as  one  of  the  directors  of 
that  compan}^ ;  the  engineer  of  the  Little  Diddlesex  Junction 
had  sued  him  for  two  thousand  three  hundred  pounds  —  the 
charges  of  that  scientific  man  for  six  weeks'  labor  in  surve\'ing 
the  line.  His  brother  directors  were  to  be  discovered  nowhere  : 
Windham,  Dodgin,  Mizzhngton,  and  the  rest,  were  all  gone 
long  ago. 

When  I  ente'i'ed,  the  door  was  open  :  there  w^as  a  smell  of 
smoke  in  the  dining-room,  where  a  gentleman  at  noonday  was 
seated  with  a  pipe  and  a  pot  of  beer  :  a  man  in  possession  in- 
deed, in  that  comfortable  pretty  parlor,  by  that  snug  round 
table  where  I  have  so  often  seen  Fanny  Dixon's  smiling 
face. 

Kirby,  the  ex-dragoon,  was  scowling  at  the  fellow,  who  lay 
upon  a  little  settee  reading  the  newspaper,  with  an  evident 
desire  to  kill  him.  Mrs.  Kirby,  his  wife,  held  little  Danby, 
poor  Dixon's  son  and  heir.  Dixon's  portrait  smiled  over  the 
sideboard  still,  and  his  wife  was  up  stairs  in  an  agony  of 


48 


OUR  STREET. 


fear,  with  the  poor  little  daughters  of  this  bankrupt,  broken 
family. 

This  poor  soul  had  actually  come  down  and  paid  a  visit  to 
the  man  in  possession.  She  had  sent  wine  and  dinner  to  the 
gentleman  down  stairs,"  as  she  called  him  in  her  terror.  She 
had  tried  to  move  his  heart,  b}^  representing  to  him  how  inno- 
cent Captain  Dixon  was,  and  how  he  had  always  paid,  and 
alway  s  remained  at  home  when  everybody  else  had  fled.  As  if 
her  tears  and  simple  tales  and  entreaties  could  move  that  man 
in  possession  out  of  the  house,  or  induce  him  to  pay  the  costs 
of  the  action  which  her  husband  had  lost. 

Danby  meanwhile  was  at  Boulogne,  sickening  after  his  wife 
and  children.  The}^  sold  everything  in  his  house  —  all  his 
smart  furniture  and  neat  little  stock  of  plate  ;  his  wardrobe 
and  his  linen,  ''the  property  of  a  gentleman  gone  abroad;" 
his  carriage  by  the  best  maker ;  and  his  wine  selected  without 
regard  to  expense.  His  house  was  shut  up  as  completeh'  as 
his  opposite  neighbor's  ;  and  a  new  tenant  is  just  having  it 
fresh  painted  inside  and  out,  as  if  poor  Dixon  had  left  an 
infection  behind. 

Kirby  and  his  wife  went  across  the  water  with  the  children 
and  Mrs.  Fanny  —  she  has  a  small  settlement;  and  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  our  mutual  friend  Miss  Elizabeth  C.  went  down 
with  Mrs.  Dixon  in  the  fly  to  the  Tower  Stairs,  and  stopped  in 
Lombard  Street  b}^  the  way. 

So  it  is  that  the  world  wags:  that. honest  men  and  knaves 
alike  are  alwa3's  having  ups  and  downs  of  fortune,  and  that  we 
are  perpetually  changing  tenants  in  Our  Street. 


THE  LION  OF  THE  STREEt. 

What  people  can  find  in  Clarence  Hulbul,  who  has  lately 
taken  upon  himself  the  rank  and  dignity  of  Lion  of  Our  Street, 
I  have  always  becm  at  a  loss  to  conjecture. 

''He  has  written  an  Eastern  book  of  considerable  merit," 
Miss  Clappen^law  says  ;  but  hang  it,  lias  not  ever}'bod\^  written 
an  Eastern  book?  I  should  like  to  meet  anybod\'  in  society 
now  who  has  not  ])e(Mi  up  to  the  sc^cond  calni'act.  An  Eastern 
book  forsooth  !  My  Loi'd  ('astleroyal  has  donc^  one  —  an  honest 
one  ;  my  Jxjrd  Youngent  another  —  an  amusing  one  ;  my  Lord 


The  Lion  of  the  Street. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILUNOIS 


OUR  STREET. 


49 


Woolse}'  another —  a  pious  one  ;  there  is  "  The  Cutlet  and  the 
Cabob  "  —  a  sentimental  one  ;  Timbuctoothen  "  —  a  humorous 
one,  all  ludicrously  overrated,  in  my  opinion  :  not  including  my 
own  little  book,  of  which  a  copy  or  two  is  still  to  be  had,  by 
the  way. 

Weil,  then,  Clarence  Bulbul,  because  he  has  made  part  of 
the  little  tour  that  all  of  us  know,  comes  back  and  gives  him- 
self airs,  forsooth,  and  howls  as  if  he  were  just  out  of  the  great 
Libyan  desert. 

When  we  go  and  see  him,  that  Irish  Jew  courier,  whom  I 
have  before  had  the  honor  to  describe,  looks  up  from  the 
novel  which  he  is  reading  in  the  ante-room,  and  says,  Mon 
maitre  est  au  divan,"  or,  ^'Monsieur  trouvera  Monsieur  dans 
son  serail,"  and  relapses  into  the  Comte  de  Montecristo 
again. 

Yes,  the  impudent  wretch  has  actually  a  room  in  his  apart- 
ments on  the  ground-floor  of  his  mother's  house,  which  he  calls 
his  harem.  When  Lady  Betty  Bulbul  (they  are  of  the  Night- 
ingale famil}')  or  Miss  Blanche  comes  down  to  visit  him,  their 
slippers  are  placed  at  the  door,  and  he  receives  them  on  an 
ottoman,  and  these  infatuated  women  will  actually  light  his  pipe 
for  him. 

Little  Spitfire,  the  groom,  hangs  about  the  drawing-room, 
outside  the  harem  forsooth !  so  that  he  may  be  ready  when 
Clarence  Bulbul  claps  hands  for  him  to  bring  the  pipes  and 
coffee. 

He  has  coffee  and  pipes  for  everybod3\  I  should  like  3'ou 
to  have  seen  the  face  of  old  Bowl}',  his  college-tutor,  called 
upon  to  sit  cross-legged  on  a  divan,  a  little  cup  of  bitter  black 
Mocha  put  into  his  hand,  and  a  large  amber-muzzled  pipe 
stuck  into  his  mouth  by  Spitfire,  before  he  could  so  much  as 
sa}'  it  was  a  fine  day.  Bowly  almost  thought  he  had  com- 
promised his  principles  by  consenting  so  far  to  this  Turkish 
manner. 

BulbuFs  dinners  are,  I  own,  ver}^  good ;  his  pilaffs  and 
curries  excellent.  He  tried  to  make  us  eat  rice  with  our 
fingers,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  scalded  his  own  hands  in  the  busi- 
ness, and  invariably  bedizened  his  shirt ;  so  he  has  left  off  the 
Turkish  practice,  for  dinner  at  least,  and  uses  a  fork  like  a 
Christian. 

But  it  is  in  society  that  he  is  most  remarkable  ;  and  here  he 
would,  I  own,  be  odious,  but  he  becomes  delio-htful,  because 
all  the  mon  hate  him  so.  A  perfect  chorus  of  abuse  is  raised 
round  about  him.       Confounded  impostor,"  says  one  ;  Im- 


50 


OUR  STREET. 


pudent  jackass,"  says  another;  ''Miserable  puppy,"  cries  a 
third  ;  ''I'd  like  to  wring  his  neck,"  saj  s  Bruff,  scowling  over 
his  shoulder  at  him.  Clarence  meanwhile  nods,  winks,  smiles, 
and  patronizes  them  all  with  the  easiest  good-humor.  He  is  a 
fellow  w^ho  w^ould  poke  an  archbishop  in  the  apron,  or  clap 
•a  duke  on  the  shoulder,  as  coolly  as  he  would  address  you 
and  me. 

I  saw  him  the  other  night  at  Mrs.  Bumpsher's  grand  let-off. 
He  flung  himself  down  cross-legged  on  a  pink  satin  sofa,  so 
that  you  could  see  Mrs.  Bumpsher  quiver  with  rage  in  the  dis- 
tance, Bruff  growl  with  fury  from  the  further  room,  and  Miss 
Pim,  on  whose  frock  Bulbul's  feet  rested,  look  up  like  a  timid 
fawn. 

"  P'an  me.  Miss  Pim,"  said  he  of  the  cushion.  "  You  look 
like  a  perfect  Peri  to-night.  You  remind  me  of  a  girl  I  once 
knew  in  Circassia  —  Ameena,  the  sister  of  Schamyl  Bey.  Do 
3'ou  know,  Miss  Pim,  that  you  would  fetch  twenty  thousand 
piastres  in  the  market  at  Constantinople  ?  " 

"  Law,  Mr.  Bulbul  !  "  is  all  Miss  Pim  can  ejaculate;  and 
having  talked  over  Miss  Pim,  Clarence  goes  off  to  another 
houri,  whom  he  fascinates  in  a  similar  manner.  He  charmed 
Mrs.  Wadd}^  by  telling  her  that  she  was  the  exact  figure  of  the 
Pasha  of  P^gypt's  second  wife.  He  gave  Miss  Tokely  a  piece 
of  the  sack  in  which  Zuleika  was  drowned  ;  and  he  actually 
persuaded  that  poor  little  silly  Miss  Vain  to  turn  Mahometan, 
and  sent  her  up  to  the  Turkish  ambassador's  to  look  out  for  a 
mufti. 


THE  DOVE  OF  OUR  STREET. 

If  Bulbul  is  our  Lion,  Young  Oriel  may  be  described  as  The 
Dove  of  our  colony.  He  is  almost  as  great  a  pasha  among  the 
ladies  as  Bulbul.  They  crowd  in  flocks  to  see  him  at  Saint 
Waltheofs,  where  the  immense  height  of  his  forehead,  the 
rigid  asceticism  of  his  surplice,  the  twang  with  which  he  in- 
tones the  service,  and  the  naml)y-pamby  mysticism  of  his 
sermons,  have  turned  all  the  dear  girls'  heads  for  some  time 
past.  While  we  were  having  a  rubber  at  Mrs.  Chauntry's,  whose 
daughters  nn;  following  tlu^  new  mode,  I  h(';ird  the  following 
talk  (wiiich  uvmU)  me  revoke  by  th^^  way)  going  on,  in  what  was 


The  Dove  of  the  Street. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  tUINOIS 


OUR  STREET. 


51 


formerly  called  the  young  ladies'  room,  but  is  now  styled  the 
Oratory ;  — 

THE  ORATORY. 

Miss  Chauntry.  Miss  Isabel  Chauntrt. 

Miss  De  L'Aisle.  Miss  Pyx. 

Rev.  L.  Oriel.  Rev.  0.  Slocum —  [In  the  further  room  \ 

Miss  Chauntry  (^sighing) .  —  Is  it  wrong  to  be  in  the  Guards, 
dear  Mr.  Oriel  ? 

Miss  Pyx.  —  She  will  make  Frank  de  Boots  sell  out  when 
he  marries. 

Mr,  Oriel.  — To  be  in  the  Guards,  dear  sister?  The  church 
has  always  encouraged  the  army.  Saint  Martin  of  Tours  was 
in  the  army ;  Saint  Louis  was  in  the  army ;  Saint  Waltheof, 
our  patron.  Saint  Witikind  of  Aldermanbur}^,  Saint  Wamba, 
and  Saint  WallofT  were  in  the  army.  Saint  Wapshot  was  cap- 
tain of  the  guard  of  Queen  Boadicea  ;  and  Saint  Werewolf  was 
a  major  in  the  Danish  cavalry.  The  hoh'  Saint  Ignatius  of 
Loyola  carried  a  pike,  as  we  know  ;  and  — 

Miss  De  V Aisle.  — Will  you  take  some  tea,  dear  Mr.  Oriel? 

Oriel.  — This  is  not  one  of  my  feast  da^'s.  Sister  Emma.  It 
is  the  feast  of  Saint  Wagstaff  of  Walthamstow. 

The  Young  Ladies.  —  And  we  must  not  even  take  tea? 

Oriel.  —  Dear  sisters,  I  said  not  so.  You  ma}'  do  as  3'ou 
list ;  but  I  am  strong  {with  a  heart-broken  sigh)  ;  don't  ply  me 
{he  reels).  I  took  a  little  water  and  a  parched  pea  after  matins. 
To-morrow  is  a  flesh  day,  and  —  and  I  shall  be  better  then. 

Rev.  0.  Slocum  {from  within).  — Madam,  I  take  your  heart 
with  m}'  small  trump. 

Oriel. — Yes,  better!  dear  sister;  it  is  onl}^  a  passing — a 

—  weakness. 

Miss  I.  Chauntry.  —  He's  d3'ing  of  fever. 
Miss  Chauntry.  —  I'm  so  glad  De  Boots  need  not  leave  the 
Blues. 

Miss  Pyx.  —  He  wears  sackcloth  and  cinders  inside  his 
waistcoat. 

Miss  De  V Aisle.  —  He's  told  me  to-night  he's  going  to  —  to 

—  Ho-o-ome.     \_Miss  De  V Aisle  bursts  into  tears. 

Rev.  0.  Slocum. — M3'  lord,  I  have  the  highest  club,  which 
gives  the  trick  and  two  b}'  honors. 

Thus,  3'ou  see,  we  have  a  variet}"  of  clergymen  in  Our  Street. 
Mr.  Oriel  is  of  the  pointed  Gothic  school,  "while  old  Slocum  is 
of  the  good  old  tawny  port-wine  school ;  and  it  must  be  con- 


52 


OUR  STREET. 


fessed  that  Mr.  Gronow,  at  Ebenezer,  has  a  heart}"  abhorrence 
for  both. 

As  for  Gronow,  I  pity  him,  if  his  future  lot  should  fall  where 
Mr.  Oriel  supposes  that  it  will. 

And  as  for  Oriel,  he  has  not  even  the  benefit  of  purgator}^ 
which  he  would  accord  to  his  neighbor  Ebenezer ;  while  old 
Slocum  pronounces  both  to  be  a  couple  of  humbugs  ;  and  Mr. 
Mole,  the  demure  little  beetle-browed  chaplain  of  tlie  little 
church  of  Avemar}"  Lane,  keeps  his  sly  eyes  down  to  the 
ground  when  he  passes  any  one  of  his  black-coated  brethren. 

There  is  onl}"  one  point  on  which,  my  friends,  the}"  seem 
agreed.  Slocum  likes  port,  but  who  ever  heard  that  he  neg- 
lected his  poor?  Gronow,  if  he  comminates  his  neighbor's 
congregation,  is  the  affectionate  father  of  his  own.  Oriel,  if  he 
loves  pointed  Gothic  and  parched  peas  for  breakfast,  has  a 
prodigious  soup-kitchen  for  his  poor ;  and  as  for  little  Father 
Mole,  who  never  lifts  his  eyes  from  the  ground,  ask  our  doctor 
at  what  bedsides  he  finds  him,  and  how  he  soothes  poverty,  and 
braves  misery  and  infection. 


THE  BUMPSHERS. 

No.  6,  Pocklington  Gardens,  (the  house  with  the  quantity  of 
flowers  in  the  windows,  and  the  awning  over  the  entrance,) 
George  Bumpsher,  Esquire,  M.P.  for  Ilumborough  (and  the 
Beanstalks,  Kent). 

For  some  time  after  this  gorgeous  family  came  into  our 
quarter,  I  mistook  a  bald-headed,  stout  person,  whom  I  used 
to  see  looking  thi'ongh  Wui  flowers  on  the  u[)[)er  windows,  for 
Bnm[)sher  hirns(;ir,  or  for  the  butler  of  the  family;  whereas  it 
was  no  other  than  Mrs.  Bumpsher,  without  her  chestnut  wig, 
and  who  is  at  least  three  times  the  size  of  her  husband. 

TIk;  liumpshers  and  the  house  of  Mango  at  the  PiiK^  ies  vie 
together  in  their  desires  to  dominate  over  the  neighborhood  ; 
and  each  votes  the  other  a  vulgivr  and  purs(»-))i'oud  (amily. 
TTie  faet  is,  both  iin\  City  people.  Bumpsher,  in  his  mercantile 
capacity,  is  a  whoh^saU^  stationer  in  Th;un(\s  Str(H't;  and  his 
wif(i  was  th(i  daughtei-  of  an  emiu(»ut  bill-broking  lirm,  not  a 
thousand  miles  from  Lombard  Sti-eet. 

lie  does  not  sport  a  coronet  and  sui)[)or'^ers  upon  his  Lon- 


OUR  STREET. 


53 


don  plate  and  carriages ;  but  his  country-house  is  emblazoned 
all  over  with  those  heraldic  decorations.  He  puts  on  an  order 
when  he  goes  abroad,  and  is  Count  Bumpsher  of  the  Roman 
States  —  which  title  he  purchased  from  the  late  Pope  (through 
Prince  Polonia  the  banker)  for  a  couple  of  thousand  scudi. 

It  is  as  good  as  a  coronation  to  see  him  and  Mrs.  Bumpsher 
go  to  Court.  I  wonder  the  carriage  can  hold  them  both.  On 
those  daj's  Mrs.  Bumpsher  holds  her  own  drawing-room  before 
her  Majesty's  ;  and  w^e  are  invited  to  come  and  see  her  sitting 
in  state,  upon  the  largest  sofa  in  her  rooms.  She  has  need  of 
a  stout  one,  I  promise  you.  Her  very  feathers  must  weigh 
something  considerable.  The  diamonds  on  her  stomacher 
would  embroider  a  full-sized  carpet-bag.  She  has  rubies,  rib- 
bons, cameos,  emeralds,  gold  serpents,  opals,  and  Val^enciennes 
lace,  as  if  she  were  an  immense  sample  out  of  Howell  and 
James's  shop. 

She  took  up  with  little  Pinkney  at  Rome,  where  he  made  a 
charming  picture  of  her,  representing  her  as  about  eighteen, 
with  a  cherub  in  her  lap,  who  has  some  hking  to  Bryanstone 
Bumpsher,  her  enormous,  vulgar  son ;  now  a  cornet  in  the 
Blues,  and  anjlhing  but  a  cherub,  as  those  would  ssiy  who  saw 
him  in  his  uniform  jacket. 

I  remember  Pinknej^  when  he  was  painting  the  picture, 
Bryanstone  being  then  a  youth  in  what  they  call  a  skeleton  suit 
(•as  if  such  a  pig  of  a  child  could  ever  have  been  dressed  in 
anything  resembling  a  skeleton)  —  I  remember,  I  sa}',  Mrs.  B. 
sitting  to  Pinkney  in  a  sort  of  Egerian  costume,  her  boy  b\'  her 
side,  whose  head  the  artist  turned  round  and  directed  it  towards 
a  piece  of  gingerbread,  which  he  was  to  have  at  the  end  of  the 
sitting. 

Pinkney,  indeed,  a  painter  !  —  a  contemptible  little  humbug, 
a  parasite  of  the  great !  He  has  painted  Mrs.  Bumpsher  younger 
ever}'  year  for  these  last  ten  3'ears  —  and  you  see  in  the  adver- 
tisements of  all  her  parties  his  odious  little  name  stuck  in  at  the 
end  of  the  list.  I'm  sure,  for  m}^  part,  I'd  scorn  to  enter  her 
doors,  or  be  the  toady  of  any  woman. 


54 


OUR  STREET. 


JOLLY  NEWBOY,  ESQ.,  M.R 

How  different  it  is  with  the  Newbo^^s,  now,  where  I  have  an 
entree  (having  indeed  had  the  honor  in  former  days  to  give 
lessons  to  both  the  ladies)  —  and  where  such  a  quack  as  Pink- 
ney  would  never  be  allowed  to  enter !  A  merrier  house  the 
whole  quarter  cannot  furnish.  It  is  there  you  meet  people  of 
all  ranks  and  degrees,  not  only  from  our  quarter,  but  from  the 
rest  of  the  town.  It  is  there  that  our  great  man,  the  Right 
Honorable  Lord  Comandine,  came  up  and  spoke  to  me  in  so 
encouraging  a  manner  that  I  hope  to  be  invited  to  one  of  his 
lordship's  excellent  dinners  (of  which  I  shall  not  fail  to  give  a 
very  flattering  description)  before  the  season  is  over.  It  is 
there  you  find  3^ourself  talking  to  statesmen,  poets,  and  artists 
—  not  sham  poets  hke  Bulbul,  or  quack  artists  like  that  Pink- 
ne}^  —  but  to  the  best  members  of  all  society.  It  is  there  I 
made  this  sketch,  w^hile  Miss  Chesterforth  was  singing  a  deep- 
toned  tragic  ballad,  and  her  mother  scowling  behind  her.  What 
a  buzz  and  clack  and  chatter  there  was  in  the  room  to  be 
sure  !  When  Miss  Chesterforth  sings,  everybody  begins  to  talk. 
Hicks  and  old  Fogy  were  on  Ireland  :  Bass  was  roaring  into  old 
Pump's  ears  (or  into  his  horn  rather)  about  the  Navigation 
Laws;  I  was  engaged  talking  to  the  charming  Mrs.  Short; 
while  Charley  Bonham  (a  mere  prig,  in  whom  I  am  surprised 
that  the  women  can  see  anything,)  was  pouring  out  his  fulsome 
rhapsodies  in  the  ears  of  Diana  White.  Lovely,  lovely  Diana 
White  !  were  it  not  for  three  or  four  other  engagements,"  I 
know  a  heart  that  would  suit  you  to  a  T. 

Newboy's  I  pronounce  to  be  the  jolliest  house  in  the  street. 
He  has  only  of  late  had  a  rush  of  prosperity,  and  turned  Parlia- 
ment man  ;  for  his  distant  cousin,  of  the  ancient  house  of  New- 
boy  of  shire,  dying,  Fred  —  then  making  believe  to  practise 

at  the  bar,  and  living  with  the  utmost  modesty  in  Gray's  Inn 
Road  —  found  himself  master  of  a  fortune,  and  a  great  house  in 
the  country  ;  of  which  getting  tired,  as  in  the  course  of  nature 
he  should,  he  came  up  to  Loudon,  and  took  that  fine  mansion 
in  our  Gardens.  H(;  njpresents  Mumborough  in  Parliament,  a 
seat  which  lias  been  time  out  of  mind  occupied  by  a  Newboy. 

Though  lie  does  not  speak;  being  a  great  deal  too  rich, 
sensi})l(i,  and  lazy,  he  somehow  occupies  himself  with  reading 
blue-books,  and  indeed  talks  a  great  deal  too  much  good  sense 


OUR  STREET. 


55 


of  late  over  his  dinner-table,  where  there  is  always  a  cover  for 
the  present  writer. 

He  falls  asleep  pretty  assiduously  too  after  that  meal  —  a 
practice  which  I  can  well  pardon  in  him  —  for,  between  our- 
selves, his  wife,  Maria  Newbo}' ,  and  his  sister,  Clarissa,  are  the 
loveliest  and  kindest  of  their  sex,  and  I  would  rather  hear  their 
innocent  prattle,  and  lively  talk  about  their  neighbors,  than  the 
best  wisdom  from  the  wisest  man  that  ever  wore  a  beard. 

Like  a  wise  and  good  man,  he  leaves  the  question  of  his 
household  entirel}^  to  the  women.  They  like  going  to  the  play. 
They  like  going  to  Greenwich.  The^^  like  coming  to  a  party  at 
Bachelor's  Hall.  They  are  up  to  all  sorts  of  fun,  in  a  word  ;  in 
W'hich  taste  the  good-natured  Newbo}'  acquiesces,  provided  he 
is  left  to  follow  his  own. 

It  was  only  on  the  17th  of  the  month,  that,  having  had  the 
honor  to  dine  at  the  house,  when,  after  dinner,  which  took  place 
at  eight,  we  left  Newbo}'  to  his  blue-books,  and  went  up  stairs  and 
sang  a  little  to  the  guitar  afterwards  —  it  was  only  on  the  17th 
December,  the  night  of  Lady  Sowerby's  part}',  that  the  follow- 
ing dialogue  took  place  in  the  boudoir,  whither  Newboy,  blue- 
books  in  hand,  had  ascended. 

He  was  curled  up  with  his  House  of  Commons  boots  on  his 
wife's  arm-chair,  reading  his  eternal  blue-books,  when  Mrs.  N. 
entered  from  her  apartment,  dressed  for  the  evening. 

Mrs,  N.  —  Frederick,  won't  you  come  ? 

Mr.  N,  —  Where  ? 

Mrs.  N.  —  To  Lady  Sowerby's. 

Mr.  N.  —  I'd  rather  go  to  the  Black  Hole  in  Calcutta.  Be- 
sides, this  Sanitary  Report  is  really  the  most  interesting —  [_he 
begins  to  read.'\ 

Mrs.  N.  —  (piqued)  — Well,  Mr.  Titmarsh  will  go  with  us. 
Mr.  N.  —  Will  he?    I  wish  him  joy. 

At  this  juncture  Miss  Clarissa  Newbo}^  enters  in  a  pink 
paletot,  trimmed  with  swansdown  —  looking  like  an  angel  — 
and  we  exchange  glances  of  —  what  shall  I  say? —  of  sympathy 
on  both  parts,  and  consummate  rapture  on  mine.  But  this  is 
by-play. 

Mrs.  N.  —  Good  night,  Frederick.    I  think  we  shall  be  late. 

Mr.  N.  —  You  won't  wake  me,  I  dare  say;  and  3'ou  don't 
expect  a  public  man  to  sit  up. 

Mrs.  N.  —  It's  not  3'ou,  it's  the  servants.  Cocker  sleeps 
very  heavily.  The  maids  are  best  in  bed,  and  are  all  ill  with 
the  influenza.  I  say,  Frederick  dear,  don't  you  think  you  had 
better  give  me  your  chubb  key? 


< 


56 


OUR  STREET. 


This  astonishing  proposal,  which  violates  every  recognized 
law  of  society  —  this  demand  which  alters  all  the  existing  state 
of  things  —  this  fact  of  a  woman  asking  for  a  door-key,  struck 
me  with  a  terror  which  I  cannot  describe,  and  impressed  me 
with  the  fact  of  the  vast  progress  of  Our  Street.  The  door- 
key  !  What  would  our  grandmothers,  who  dwelt  in  this  place 
when  it  was  a  rustic  suburb,  think  of  its  condition  now,  when 
husbands  stay  at  home,  and  wives  go  abroad  with  the  latch- 
key? 

The  evening  at  Lady  Sowerby's  was  the  most  delicious  we 
have  spent  for  long,  long  days. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  everybodj^  of  any  consideration  in 
Our  Street  takes  a  line.  Mrs.  Minimy  (34)  takes  the  homoeo- 
pathic line,  and  has  soirees  of  doctors  of  that  faith.  Lady 
Pocklington  takes  the  capitalist  line ;  and  those  stupid  and 
splendid  dinners  of  hers  are  devoured  by  loan-contractors  and 
railroad  princes.  Mrs.  Trimmer  (38)  comes  out  in  the  scien- 
tific line,  and  indulges  us  in  rational  evenings,  where  history 
is  the  lightest  subject  admitted,  and  geology  and  the  sanitarj^ 
condition  of  the  metropolis  form  the  general  themes  of  conver- 
sation. Mrs.  Brumb}'  plays  finely'  on  the  bassoon,  and  has 
evenings  dedicated  to  Sebastian  Bach,  and  enlivened  with 
Handel.  At  Mrs.  Maskk^yn's  they  are  mad  for  charades  and 
theatricals. 

They  performed  last  Christmas  in  a  French  piece,  by  Alex- 
andre Dumas,  I  believe  —  ''La  Duchesse  de  Montefiasco,"  of 
which  I  forget  the  plot,  but  everybody  was  in  love  with  every- 
body else's  wife,  except  the  hero,  Don  Alonzo,  who  was  ar- 
dently attached  to  the  Duchess,  who  turned  out  to  be  his 
grandmother.  The  piece  was  translated  by  Lord  Fiddle-faddle, 
Tom  Bulbul  being  the  Don  Alonzo  ;  and  Mrs.  Roland  Calidore 
(who  never  misses  an  opportunity  of  acting  in  a  piece  in  which 
she  can  let  down  her  hair)  was  the  Duchess. 

Alonzo. 

You  know  how  well  lie  loves  you,  and  you  wonder 

To  see  Alonzo  sulfer,  Cunegunda?  — 

Ask  if  tlie  cliainois  suffer  when  they  feel 

Plun^^ed  in  tiieir  pantin<r  sides  the  hunter's  steel? 

Or  when  the  soaring  heron  or  ea^le  proud, 

Pierced  hy  my  shaft,  comes  tumhlin^^  from  the  cloud, 

Ask  if  the  royal  hirds  no  anguish  know, 

The  victims  of  Alonzo's  twan^in^  how  I 

Then  ask  him  if  lie  suffers  —  him  wiio  dies, 

Pierced  hy  the  poisoned  glance  that  glitters  from  your  eyes  ! 

[  He  stwpjtrs  from  the  effect  of  the  poison. 


OUR  STREET. 


57 


The  Duchess. 

Alonzo  loves  —  Alonzo  loves  !  and  whom  ? 

His  grandmother  !    Oh,  hide  me,  gracious  tomb ! 

[//er  Grace  faints  away. 

Such  acting  as  Tom  BulbuFs  I  never  saw.  Tom  lisps  atro- 
ciousl}',  and  uttered  the  passage,  You  athk  me  if  I  thuffer/' 
in  the  most  absurd  wa}-.  Miss  Clapperclaw  sa3^s  he  acted 
prett}'  well,  and  that  I  only  joke  about  him  because  I  am  en- 
vious, and  wanted  to  act  a  part  myself.  —  I  envious  indeed  ! 

But  of  all  the  assemblies,  feastings,  junketings,  dejeunes, 
soirees,  conversaziones,  dinner-parties,  in  Our  Street,  I  know 
of  none  pleasanter  than  the  banquets  at  Tom  Fairfax's  ;  one  of 
which  this  enormous  provision-consumer  gives  seven  times  a 
week.  He  lives  in  one  of  the  little  houses  of  the  old  Waddi- 
love  Street  quarter,  built  long  before  Pocklington  Square  and 
Pocklington  Gardens  and  the  Pocklington  family  itself  had 
made  their  appearance  in  this  world. 

Tom,  though  he  has  a  small  income,  and  lives. in  a  small 
house,  yet  sits  down  one  of  a  party  of  twelve  to  dinner  ever\^ 
day  of  his  Ufe  ;  these  twelve  consisting  of  Mrs.  Fairfax,  the 
nine  Misses  Fairfax,  and  Master  Thomas  Fairfax  —  the  son 
and  heir  to  twopence  halfpenny  a  year. 

It  is  awkward  just  now  to  go  and  beg  pot-luck  from  such 
a  family  as  this  ;  because,  though  a  guest  is  alwa3^s  welcome, 
we  are  thirteen  at  table  —  an  unlucky  number,  it  is  said.  This 
evil  is  onl}^  temporary,  and  will  be  remedied  presentl}^,  when 
the  family  will  be  thirteen  without  the  occasional  guest,  to 
judge  from  all  appearances. 

Early  in  the  morning  Mrs.  Fairfax  rises,  and  cuts  bread 
and  butter  from  six  o'clock  till  eight ;  during  which  time  the 
nursery  operations  upon  the  nine  little  graces  are  going  on. 
If  his  wife  has  to  rise  early  to  cut  the  bread  and  butter,  I 
warrant  Fairfax  must  be  up  betimes  to  earn  it.  He  is  a  clerk 
in  a  Government  oflice  ;  to  which  duty  he  trudges  daily,  refusing 
even  twopenny  omnibuses.  Every  time  he  goes  to  the  shoe- 
maker's he  has  to  order  eleven  pairs  of  shoes,  and  so  can't 
afford  to  spare  his  own.  He  teaches  the  children  Latin  every 
morning,  and  is  alread}'  thinking  when  Tom  shall  be  inducted 
into  that  language.  He  works  in  his  garden  for  an  hour  before 
breakfast.  His  work  over  by  three  o'clock,  he  tramps  home 
at  four,  and  exchanges  his  dapper  coat  for  his  dressing-gown 
—  a  ragged  but  honorable  garment. 

Which  is  the  best,  his  old  coat  or  Sir  John's  bran-new  one? 


58 


OUR  STREET. 


Which  is  the  most  comfortable  and  becoming,  Mrs.  Fairfaxes 
black  velvet  gown  (which  she  has  worn  at  the  Pocklington 
Square  parties  these  twelve  years,  and  in  which  I  protest  she 
looks  like  a  queen) ,  or  that  new  robe  which  the  milliner  has 
just  brought  home  to  Mrs.  Bumpsher's,  and  into  which  she  will 
squeeze  herself  on  Christmas -da}'  ? 

Miss  Clapperclaw  sa3's  that  we  are  all  so  charmingl}^  con- 
tented with  ourselves  that  not  one  of  us  would  change  with  his 
neighbor ;  and  so,  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low,  one  person  is 
about  as  happy  as  another  in  Our  Street. 


DOCTOR  BIECH 

AND  HIS  YOUNG  FEIENDS. 

By  MR.  M.  A.  TITMARSH. 


DOCTOR  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG 
FRIENDS. 


THE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  STAFF. 

There  is  no  need  to  say  why  I  became  assistant-master  and 
professor  of  the  Enghsh  and  French  languages,  flower-painting, 
and  the  German  flute,  in  Doctor  Birch's  Academ}^  at  Rodwell 
Regis.  Good  folks  may  depend  on  this,  that  it  was  not  for 
choice  that  I  left  lodgings  near  London,  and  a  genteel  societ}', 
for  an  under-master's  desk  in  that  old  school.  I  promise  3'ou 
the  fare  at  the  usher's  table,  the  getting  up  at  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  the  walking  out  with  little  bo3's  in  the  fields, 
(who  used  to  play  me  tricks,  and  never  could  be  got  to  respect 
my  awful  and  responsible  character  as  teacher  in  the  school,) 
Miss  Birch's  vulgar  insolence.  Jack  Birch's  glum  condescension, 
and  the  poor  old  Doctor's  patronage,  were  not  matters  in  them- 
selves pleasurable  :  and  that  that  patronage  and  those  dinners 
were  sometimes  cruel  hard  to  swallow.  Never  mind  —  my 
connection  with  the  place  is  over  now,  and  I  hope  the}^  have 
got  a  more  efficient  under-master. 

Jack  Birch  (Rev.  J.  Birch,  of  St.  Neot's  Hall,  Oxford,)  is 
partner  with  his  father  the  Doctor,  and  takes  some  of  the 
classes.  About  his  Greek  I  can't  say  much ;  but  I  will  con- 
strue him  in  Latin  any  day.  A  more  supercilious  little  prig, 
(giving  himself  airs,  too,  about  his  cousin.  Miss  Raby,  who 
lives  with  the  Doctor,)  a  more  empty,  pompous  little  coxcomb 
I  never  saw.  His  white  neck-cloth  looked  as  if  it  choked  him. 
He  used  to  tr}^  and  look  over  that  starch  upon  me  and  Prince 
the  assistant,  as  if  he  were  a  couple  of  footmen.  He  didn't  do 
much  business  in  the  school ;  but  occupied  his  time  in  writing 
sanctified  letters  to  the  boys'  parents,  and  in  composing  dreary 
sermons  to  preach  to  them. 


62 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


The  real  master  of  the  school  is  Prince ;  an  Oxford  man 
too :  shy,  haughty,  and  learned  ;  crammed  with  Greek  and  a 
quantity  of  useless  learning ;  uncommonly  kind  to  the  small 
boys  ;  pitiless  with  the  fools  and  the  braggarts  ;  respected  of  all 
for  his  honest}',  his  learning,  his  braverj^,  (for  he  hit  out  once 
in  a  boat-row  in  a  way  which  astonished  the  bo^'s  and  the 
bargemen,)  and  for  a  latent  power  about  him,  which  all  saw 
and  confessed  somehow.  Jack  Birch  could  never  look  him  in 
the  face.  Old  Miss  Z.  dared  not  put  off  any  of  her  airs  upon 
him.  Miss  Rosa  made  him  the  lowest  of  curtsies.  Miss  Raby 
said  she  was  afraid  of  him.  Good  old  Prince  !  we  have  sat 
many  a  night  smoking  in  the  Doctor's  harness-room,  whither 
we  retired  when  our  boys  were  gone  to  bed,  and  our  cares  and 
canes  put  by. 

After  Jack  Birch  had  taken  his  degree  at  Oxford  —  a  pro- 
cess which  he  effected  with  great  difficulty  —  this  place,  which 
used  to  be  called  ''Birch's,"  ''Dr.  Birch's  Academy,"  and 
what  not,  became  suddenl}^  "  Archbishop  Wigsby's  College  of 
Rodwell  Regis."  They  took  down  the  old  blue  board  with  the 
gold  letters,  which  has  been  used  to  mend  the  pigsty  since. 
Birch  had  a  large  school-room  run  up  in  the  Gothic  taste, 
with  statuettes,  and  a  little  belfry,  and  a  bust  of  Archbishop 
Wigsby  in  the  middle  of  the  school.  He  put  the  six  senior 
boys  into  caps  and  gowns,  which  had  rather  a  good  effect 
as  the  lads  sauntered  clown  the  street  of  the  town,  but  which 
certainly  provoked  the  contempt  and  hostility  of  the  barge- 
men ;  and  so  great  was  his  rage  for  academic  costumes  and 
ordinances,  that  he  would  have  put  me  myself  into  a  lay 
gown,  with  red  knots  and  fringes,  but  that  I  flatly  resisted, 
and  said  that  a  writing-master  had  no  business  with  such  para- 
phernalia. 

By  the  way,  I  have  forgotten  to  mention  the  Doctor  him- 
self. And  what  shall  I  sa}^  of  him?  Well,  he  has  a  verj'  crisp 
gown  and  bands,  a  solemn  aspect,  a  tremendous  loud  voice, 
and  a  grand  air  with  the  boys'  parents ;  whom  he  receives 
in  a  study  covered  round  with  the  best-bound  books,  which 
imposes  upon  many  —  upon  the  women  especially  —  and  makes 
them  fanc}^  that  this  is  a  Doctor  indeed.  But  law  bless  3^ou  ! 
He  never  reads  tlie  books,  or  o[)ens  one  of  them  ;  except  that 
in  which  he  keeps  his  bands  —  a  Dugdale's  "  Monasticon,"  which 
looks  like  a  book,  but  is  in  reality  a  cupboarc  where  he  has 
his  port,  almond-cakes,  and  decanter  of  wine.  He  gets  up  his 
classics  with  translations,  or  what  the  boys  call  cribs  ;  they  pass 
wicked  tricks  upon  him  when  he  hears  the  forms.    The  elder 


A  Young  Kaphael. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


63 


wags  go  to  his  study  and  ask  him  to  help  them  in  hard  bits  of 
Herodotus  or  Thucj^dides :  he  sa3^s  he  will  look  over  the  pas- 
sage, and  flies  for  refuge  to  Mr.  Prince,  or  to  the  crib. 

He  keeps  the  flogging  department  in  his  own  hands  ;  finding 
that  his  son  was  too  savage.  He  has  awful  brows  and  a  big 
voice.  But  his  roar  frightens  nobody.  It  is  onl}^  a  lion's  skin  ; 
or,  so  to  sa}^,  a  muff. 

Little  Mordant  made  a  picture  of  him  with  large  ears,  like 
a  well-known  domestic  animal,  and  had  his  own  justly  boxed 
for  the  caricature.  The  Doctor  discovered  him  in  the  fact,  and 
was  in  a  flaming  rage,  and  threatened  whipping  at  first ;  but 
in  the  course  of  the  day  an  opportune  basket  of  game  arriving 
from  Mordant's  father,  the  Doctor  became  mollified,  and  has 
burnt  the  picture  with  the  ears.  Plowever,  1  have  one  wafered 
up  in  my  desk  by  the  hand  of  the  same  little  rascal. 


THE  COCK  OF  THE  SCHOOL. 

I  AM  growing  an  old  fellow,  and  have  seen  many  great  folks 
in  the  course  of  my  travels  and  time  :  Louis  Philippe  coming 
out  of  the  Tuileries  ;  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Prussia  and  the 
Reichsverweser  accolading  each  other  at  Cologne  at  my  elbow  ; 
Admiral  Sir  Charles  Napier  (in  an  omnibus  once),  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  the  immortal  Goethe  at  Weimar,  the  late  benevo- 
lent Pope  Gregor}'^  XVL,  and  a  score  more  of  the  famous  in 
this  world  —  the  whom  whencA^er  one  looks  at,  one  has  a  mild 
shock  of  awe  and  tremor.  I  Uke  this  feeling  and  decent 
fear  and  trembling  with  which  a 'modest  spirit  salutes  a  Great 
Man. 

Well,  I  have  seen  generals  capering  on  horseback  at  the 
head  of  their  crimson  battalions  ;  bishops  sailing  down  cathe- 
dral aisles,  with  downcast  eyes,  pressing  their  trencher  caps  to 
their  hearts  with  their  fat  white  hands  ;  college  heads  when 
her  Majesty  is  on  a  visit ;  the  doctor  in  all  his  gior}'  at  the 
head  of  his  school  on  speech-day  :  a  great  sight  and  all  great 
men  these.  I  have  never  met  the  late  Mr.  Thomas  Cribb,  but 
I  have  no  doubt  should  have  regarded  him  with  the  same 
feeling  of  awe  with  which  I  look  every  da}'  at  George  Cham- 
pion, the  Cock  of  Dr.  Birch's  school. 

When,  I  say,  I  reflect  as  I  go  up  and  set  him  a  sum,  that 


64 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


he  could  whop  me  in  two  minutes,  double  up  Prince  and  the 
other  assistant,  and  pitch  the  Doctor  out  of  window,  I  can't 
but  think  how  great,  how  generous,  how  magnanimous  a 
creature  this  is,  that  sits  quite  quiet  and  good-natured,  and 
works  his  equation,  and  ponders  through  his  Greek  play.  He 
might  take  the  school-room  pillars  and  pull  the  house  clown  if 
he  liked.  He  might  close  the  door,  and  demolish  every  one 
of  us,  like  Antar  the  lover  of  Ibla ;  but  he  lets  us  live.  He 
never  thrashes  anybody  without  a  cause  ;  when  woe  betide  the 
tyrant  or  the  sneak  ! 

I  think  that  to  be  strong,  and  able  to  whop  everybody  — 
(not  to  do  it,  mind  3'ou,  but  to  feel  that  3'Ou  were  able  to  do 
it,)  —  would  be  the  greatest  of  all  gifts.  There  is  a  serene  good 
humor  which  plays  about  George  Champion's  broad  face,  which 
shows  the  consciousness  of  this  power,  and  lights  up  his  honest 
blue  eyes  with  a  magnanimous  calm. 

He  is  invictus.  Even  w^hen  a  cub  there  was  no  beating  this 
lion.  Six  years  ago  the  undaunted  little  warrior  actually  stood 
up  to  Frank  Davison,  —  (the  Indian  officer  now  —  poor  little 
Charley's  brother,  whom  Miss  Raby  nursed  so  affectionately,) 
—  then  seventeen  years  old,  and  the  Cock  of  Birch's.  They 
were  obliged  to  drag  off  the  boy,  and  P'rank,  with  admiration 
and  regard  for  him,  prophesied  the  great  things  he  would  do. 
Legends  of  combats  are  preserved  fondly  in  schools  ;  they  have 
stories  of  such  at  Rod  well  Regis,  performed  in  the  old  Doctor's 
time,  forty  years  ago. 

Champion's  affair  with  the  Young  Tutbury  Pet,  who  was 
down  here  in  training,  —  with  Black  the  bargeman,  —  with 
the  three  head  boys  of  Doctor  Wapshot's  academy,  whom  he 
caught  maltreating  an  outlying  day-boy  of  ours,  &c.,  —  are 
known  to  all  the  Rod  well  Regis  men.  He  was  always  victo- 
rious. He  is  modest  and  kind,  like  all  great  men.  He  has  a 
good,  brave,  honest  understanding.  He  cannot  make  verses 
like  young  Pinder,  or  read  Greek  like  A¥ells  the  Prefect,  who 
is  a  perfect  young  abyss  of  learning,  and  knows  enough.  Prince 
says,  to  furnish  any  six  first-class  men  ;  but  he  does  his  work 
in  a  sound  dovvnriglit  way,  and  he  is  made  to  be  the  bravest 
of  soldiers,  the  best  of  country  parsons,  an  honest  English 
gentleman  wherever  he  may  go. 

01.  (  Champion's  (;hief  friend  and  attendant  is  Young  Jack 
Hall,  whom  he  sav(Ml,  wluni  drowning,  out  of  the  Miller's  Pool. 
The  attachment  of  the  two  is  curious  to  witness.  The  smaller 
lad  gambolling,  playing  ti  i(;ks  round  the  bigger  one,  and  per- 
petually making  fun  of  his  protector.    They  are  never  far 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


65 


apart,  and  of  hoUda3^s  you  may  meet  them  miles  away  from 
the  school,  —  George  sauntering  heavily  down  the  lanes  with 
his  big  stick,  and  little  Jack  larking  with  the  pretty  girls  in 
the  cottage- windows. 

George  has  a  boat  on  the  river,  in  which,  however,  he  com- 
monly lies  smoking,  whilst  Jack  sculls  him.  He  does  not  play 
at  cricket,  except  when  the  school  plays  the  county,  or  at 
Lord's  in  the  holidaj's.  The  boys  can't  stand  his  bowUng, 
and  when  he  hits,  it  is  lik-e  trying  to  catch  a  cannon-ball.  I 
have  seen  him  at  tennis.  It  is  a  splendid  sight  to  behold  the 
young  fellow  bounding  over  the  court  with  streaming  yellow 
hair,  like  3'oung  Apollo  in  a  flannel  jacket. 

The  other  head  boys  are  Lawrence  the  captain,  Bunce, 
famous  chiefly  for  his  magnificent  appetite,  and  Pitman,  sur- 
named  Roscius,  for  his  love  of  the  drama.  Add  to  these 
Swank}^  called  Macassar,  from  his  partiality  to  that  condi- 
ment, and  who  has  varnished  boots,  wears  white  gloves  on 
Sundays,  and  looks  out  for  Miss  Pinkerton's  school  (trans- 
ferred from  Chiswick  to  Rodwell  Regis,  and  conducted  by  the 
nieces  of  the  late  Miss  Barbara  Pinkerton,  the  friend  of  our 
great  lexicographer,  upon  the  principles  approved  by  him, 
and  practised  by  that  admirable  woman,)  as  it  passes  into 
church. 

Representations  have  been  made  concerning  Mr.  Horace 
Swanky' s  behavior ;  rumors  have  been  uttered  about  notes 
in  verse,  conveyed  in  three-cornered  puflTs,  by  Mrs.  Ruggies, 
who  serves  Miss  Pinkerton's  .young  ladies  on  Friday's,  —  and 
how  Miss  Didow,  to  whom  the  tart  and  enclosure  were  ad- 
dressed, tried  to  make  away  with  herself  by  swallowing  a  ball 
of  cotton.  But  I  pass  over  these  absurd  reports,  as  likely 
to  afl^ect  the  reputation  of  an  admirable  seminar}'  conducted  by 
irreproachable  females.  As  they  go  into  church  Miss  P. 
driving  in  her  flock  of  lambkins  with  the  crook  of  her  parasol, 
how  can  it  be  helped  if  her  forces  and  ours  sometimes  collide, 
as  the  boys  are  on  their  way  up  to  the  organ-loft?  And  I 
don't  believe  a  word  about  the  three-cornered  puff,  but  rather 
that  it  was  the  invention  of  that  jealous  Miss  Birch,  who  is 
jealous  of  Miss  Rab}^  jealous  of  everybody  who  is  good  and 
handsome,  and  who  has  her  own  ends  in  view,  or  I  am  very 
much  in  error. 


5 


66 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


THE  DEAR  BROTHERS. 

A  MELODRAMA  IN  SEVERAL  ROUNDS. 


The  Doctor. 

Mr.  Tipper,  Uncle  to  the  Masters  Boxall. 
Box  ALL  Major,  Boxall  Minor,  Browx,  Jones, 
Smith,  IIohinson,  Tiffin  Minimus. 

B.  Go  it,  old  P.oxall ! 
J,  Give  it  him,  young  Boxall ! 
/?.  Pit(;h  into  him,  old  Boxall ! 
S.  Two  to  one  on  young  Boxall ! 

\^Enter  Tiffin  Minimus,  running. 

Tiffin  Minimus,  —  Boxalls  !  3^ou're  wanted. 
( Ilie  Doctor  to  Mr,  Tipper,) —  Every  boy  in  the  school  loves 
them,  my  dear  sir ;  your  nephews  are  a  credit  to  my  establish- 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS.  67 

ment.  They  are  orderly,  well-conducted,  gentlemanlike  boys. 
Let  us  enter  and  find  them  at  their  studies. 

[Enter  The  Doctor  and  Mr.  Tipper. 

Grand  Tableau. 


THE  LITTLE  SCHOOL-ROOM. 

What  they  call  the  little  school-room  is  a  small  room  at 
the  other  end' of  the  great  school ;  through  which  you  go  to  the 
Doctor's  private  house,  and  where  Miss  Raby  sits  with  her 
pupils.  She  has  a  half-dozen  very  small  ones  over  whom  she 
presides  and  teaches  them  in  her  simple  way,  until  they  are 
big  or  learned  enough  to  face  the  great  school-room.  Many  of 
them  are  in  a  hurry  for  promotion,  the  graceless  little  simple- 
tons, and  know  no  more  than  their  elders  when  they  are 
well  off. 

She  keeps  the  accounts,  writes  out  the  bills,  superintends 
the  hnen,  and  sews  on  the  general  shirt-buttons.  Think  of 
having  such  a  woman  at  home  to  sew  on  one's  shirt-buttons ! 
But  peace,  peace,  thou  foolish  heart! 

Miss  Ra])y  is  the  Doctor's  niece.  Her  mother  was  a  beauty 
(quite  unlike  old  Zoe  therefore)  ;  and  she  married  a  pupil  in 
the  old  Doctor's  time,  who  was  killed  afterwards,  a  captain  in 
the  East  India  service,  at  the  siege  of  Bhurtpore.  Hence  a 
number  of  Indian  children  come  to  the  Doctor's  ;  for  Rab}' 
was  very  much  liked,  and  the  uncle's  kind  reception  of  the 
orphan  has  been  a  good  speculation  for  the  school-keeper. 

It  is  wonderful  how  brightl}'  and  gayly  that  little  quick 
creature  does  her  duty.  She  is  the  first  to  rise,  and  the  last 
to  sleep,  if  any  business  is  to  be  done.  She  sees  the  other 
two  women  go  off  to  parties  in  the  town  without  even  so  much 
as  wishing  to  join  them.  It  is  Cinderella,  onh'  contented  to 
stay  at  home  —  content  to  bear  Zoe's  scorn  and  to  admit  Rosa's 
superior  charms,  —  and  to  do  her  utmost  to  repay  her  uncle 
for  his  great  kindness  in  housing  her. 

So  3'ou  see  she  w^orks  as  much  as  three  maid-servants  for 
the  wages  of  one.  She  is  as  thankful  when  the  Doctor  gives 
her  a  new  gown,  as  if  he  had  presented  her  with  a  fortune  ; 
laughs  at  his  stories  most  good-humoredly,  listens  to  Zoe's 
scolding  most  meekly,  admires  Rosa  with  all  her  heart,  and 


68 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


only  goes  out  of  the  way  when  Jack  Birch  shows  his  sallow 
face :  for  she  can't  bear  him,  and  always  finds  work  when  he 
comes  near. 

How  different  she  is  when  some  folks  approach  her !  I 
won't  be  presumptuous  ;  but  I  think,  I  think,  I  have  made  a 
not  unfavorable  impression  in  some  quarters.  However,  let  us 
be  mum  on  this  subject.  I  like  to  see  her,  because  she  always 
looks  good-humored  ;  because  she  is  always  kind,  because  she 
is  always  modest,  because  she  is  fond  of  those  poor  little  brats, 
—  orphans  some  of  them  —  because  she  is  rather  prettj',  I  dare 
say,  or  because  I  think  so,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing. 

Though  she  is  kind  to  all,  it  must  be  owned  she  shows  the 
most  2:ross  favoritism  towards  the  amiable  children.  She  briuos 
them  cakes  from  dessert,  and  regales  them  with  Zoe's  preserves  ; 
spends  many  of  her  little  shillings  in  presents  for  her  favorites, 
and  will  tell  them  stories  by  the  hour.  She  has  one  ver}'  sad 
story  about  a  little  boy,  who  died  long  ago :  the  younger  chil- 
dren are  never  weary  of  hearing  about  him  ;  and  Miss  Ral)}^ 
has  shown  to  one  of  them  a  lock  of  the  little  chap's  hair,  which 
she  keeps  in  her  work-box  to  this  day. 


A  HOPELESS  CASE. 

Let  us,  people  who  are  so  uncommonly  clever  and  learned, 
have  a  great  tenderness  and  pity  for  the  poor  folks  who  are  not 
endowed  with  the  prodigious  talents  which  we  have.  I  have 
always  had  a  regard  for  dunces;  —  those  of  my  own  school- 
days were  amongst  the  pleasantest  of  the  fellows,  and  have 
turned  out  by  no  means  the  dullest  in  life  ;  whereas  many  a 
youth  who  could  turn  off  Latin  hexameters  by  the  yard,  and 
construe  Greek  quite  glibly,  is  no  better  than  a  feeble  prig  now, 
with  not  a  pennyworth  more  brains  than  were  in  his  head  be- 
fore his  beard  grew. 

Those  poor  dunces  !  Talk  of  being  the  last  man,  ah  !  what 
a  pang  it  nmst  be  to  be  the  last  bo}^  —  huge,  misvshapen,  fourteen 
years  of  age,  and  taken  u|)"  by  a  chap  who  is  but  six  years 
old,  and  can't  speak  quite  plain  yet! 

Master  Hulker  is  in  that  condition  at  Birch*s.  He  is  the 
most  honest,  kind,  active,  plucky,  generous  creature.  He  can 
do  man}'  things  better  than  most  boys.  He  can  go  up  a  tree, 
pump,  play  at  cricket,  dive  and  swim  perfectly  —  ho  can  eat 
twice  as  much  as  almost  any  lady  (as  Miss  Birch  well  knows), 


AND  Ills  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


69 


he  has  a  pretty  talent  at  carving  figures  with  his  hack-knife,  he 
makes  and  paints  little  coaches,  he  can  take  a  watcli  to  pieces 
and  put  it  together  again.  He  can  do  ever3^tliing  but  learn  his 
lesson  ;  and  then  he  sticks  at  the  bottom  of  the  school  hopeless. 
As  the  little  bo^^s  are  drafted  in  from  Miss  Rab3^'s  class,  (it  is 
true  slie  is  one  of  the  best  instructresses  in  the  world,)  tliey 
enter  and  hop  over  poor  Hulker.  He  would  be  handed  over  to 
the  governess,  only  he  is  too  big.  Sometimes,  I  used  to  think 
that  this  desperate  stupidity  was  a  stratagem  of  the  poor  ras- 
cal's, and  that  he  shammed  dulness,  so  that  he  might  be  de- 
graded into  Miss  Raby's  class  —  if  she  would  teach  me^  I  know, 
before  George,  I  would  put  on  a  pinafore  and  a  little  jacket  — 
but  no,  it  is  a  natural  incapacity  for  the  Latin  Grammar. 

If  you  could  see  his  grammar,  it  is  a  perfect  curiosit}'  of 
dog's  ears.  The  leaves  and  cover  are  all  curled  and  ragged. 
Man}^  of  the  pages  are  worn  awa}^  with  the  rubbing  of  his 
elbows  as  he  sits  poring  over  the  hopeless  volume,  with  the 
blows  of  his  fists  as  he  thumps  it  madl}^,  or  with  the  poor  fel- 
low's tears.  You  see  him  wiping  them  awa}^  with  the  back  of 
his  hand,  as  he  tries  and  tries,  and  can't  do  it. 

When  I  think  of  that  Latin  Grammar,  and  that  infernal  As 
in  prtnesenti,  and  of  other  things  which  I  was  made  to  learn  in 
my  youth  ;  upon  m}^  conscience,  I  am  surprised  that  we  ever 
survived  it.  When  one  thinks  of  the  bo^'s  who  have  been 
caned  because  they  could  not  master  that  intolerable  jargon ! 
Good  Lord,  what  a  pitiful  chorus  these  poor  little  creatures 
send  up  !  Be  gentle  with  them,  ye  schoolmasters,  and  only 
whop  those  who  won't  learn. 

The  Doctor  has  operated  upon  Hulker  (between  ourselves) , 
but  the  boy  was  so  little  affected  you  would  have  thought  he 
had  taken  chloroform.  Birch  is  weary  of  whipping  now,  and 
leaves  the  boy  to  go  his  own  gait.  Prince,  when  he  hears  the 
lesson,  and  who  cannot  help  making  fun  of  a  fool,  adopts  the 
sarcastic  manner  with  Master  Hulker,  and  says,  Mr.  Hulker, 
may  I  take  the  liberty  to  inquire  if  your  brilliant  intellect  has 
enabled  you  to  perceive  the  difference  between  those  words 
which  grammarians  have  defined  as  substantive  and  adjective 
nouns  ?  —  if  not,  perhaps  Mr.  Ferdinand  Timmins  will  instruct 
3'ou."    And  Timmins  hops  over  Hulker's  head, 

I  wish  Prince  would  leave  off  girding  at  the  poor  lad.  He 
is  a  boy,  and  his  mother  is  a  widow  woman,  who  loves  him 
^     with  all  her  might.    There  is  a  famous  sneer  about  the  suck- 
ling of  fools  and  the  chronicling  of  small  beer ;  but  remember 
it  was  a  rascal  who  uttered  it. 


70 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


A  WORD  ABOUT  MISS  BIRCH. 

"  The  gentlemen,  and  especially  the  3'ounger  and  more 
tender  of  these  pupils,  will  have  the  advantage  of  the  constant 
superintendence  and  affectionate  care  of  Miss  Zoe  Birch,  sister 
of  the  principal :  whose  dearest  aim  will  be  to  suppl}'  (as  far 
as  ma}^  be)  the  absent  maternal  friend."  —  Prospectus  of  Rod- 
well  Regis  School, 

This  is  all  very  well  in  the  Doctor's  prospectus,  and  Miss 
Zoe  Birch —  (a  pretty  blossom  it  is,  fifty-five  years  old,  during 
two  score  of  which  she  has  dosed  herself  with  pills ;  with  a 
nose  as  red  and  a  face  as  sour  as  a  crab-apple)  — this  is  all 
might3"  well  in  a  prospectus.  But  I  should  like  to  know  who 
would  take  Miss  Zoe  for  a  mother,  or  would  have  her  for 
one? 

The  only  persons  in  the  house  who  are  not  afraid  of  her 
are  Miss  Rosa  and  I  —  no,  I  am  afraid  of  her,  though  I  do 
know  the  storj'  about  the  French  usher  in  1830  — but  all  the 
rest  tremble  before  the  woman,  from  the  Doctor  down  to  poor 
Francis  the  knife-boy,  whom  she  bullies  into  his  miserable 
blacking-hole. 

The  Doctor  is  a  pompous  and  outwardly  severe  man  —  but 
inwardly  weak  and  easy ;  loving  a  joke  and  a  glass  of  port- 
wine.  I  get  on  with  him,  therefore,  much  better  than  Mr. 
Prince,  who  scorns  him  for  an  ass,  and  under  whose  keen  eyes 
the  worth}"  Doctor  writhes  like  a  convicted  impostor ;  and 
many  a  sunshiny  afternoon  would  he  have  said,  Mr.  T.,  sir, 
shall  we  tiy  another  glass  of  that  3'ellow  sealed  wine  which  you 
seem  to  like?  "  (and  which  he  likes  even  better  than  I  do,)  had 
not  the  old  iiarridan  of  a  Zoe  been  down  upon  us,  and  insisted 
on  turning  me  out  with  her  abominable  weak  coffee.  She  a 
mother  indeed  !  A  sour-milk  generation  she  would  have  nursed. 
She  is  always  croaking,  scokling,  bullying — yowling  at  the 
housemaids,  snarling  at  Miss  Raby,  bowwowing  after  the  little 
boys,  barking  after  the  big  ones.  She  knows  how  much  every 
boy  eats  to  an  ounce  ;  and  her  delight  is  to  ply  with  fat  the 
little  ones  who  can't  bear  it,  and  with  raw  meat  tliose  who  hate 
underdone.  It  was  she  who  caused  the  Doctor  to  be  eaten  out 
three  times ;  and  nc^arly  cnjated  a  rebellion  in  the  school  be- 
cause she  insisted  on  his  flogging  Goliath  Longman. 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


71 


The  onl}^  time  that  woman  is  happy  is  when  she  comes  in 
of  a  morning  to  the  little  boys'  dormitories  with  a  cup  of  hot 
Epsom  salts,  and  a  sippet  of  bread.  Boo!  —  the  very  notion 
makes  me  quiver.  She  stands  over  them.  I  saw  her  do  it  to 
young  Byles  only  a  few  days  since  ;  and  her  presence  makes  ♦ 
the  abomination  doubly  abominable. 

As  for  attending  them  in  real  illness,  do  3^ou  suppose  that 
she  would  watch  a  single  night  for  any  one  of  them  ?  Not  she. 
When  poor  little  Charley  Davison  (that  child  a  lock  of  whose 
soft  hair  I  have  said  how  Miss  Raby  still  keeps)  lay  ill  of  scarlet 
fever  in  the  holida^^s  —  for  the  Colonel,  the  lather  of  these  boys, 
was  in  India  —  it  was  Anne  Raby  who  tended  the  child,  who 
watched  him  all  through  the  fever,  who  never  left  him  while  it 
lasted,  or  until  she  had  closed  the  little  eyes  that  were  never  to 
brighten  or  moisten  more.  Anny  watched  and  deplored  him  ; 
but  it  was  Miss  Birch  who  wrote  the  letter  announcing  his 
demise,  and  got  the  gold  chain  and  locket  which  the  Colonel 
ordered  as  a  memento  of  his  gratitude.  It  was  through  a  row 
with  Miss  Birch  that  Frank  Davison  ran  away.  I  promise 
you  that  after  he  joined  his  regiment  in  India,  the  Ahmednug- 
gur  Irregulars,  which  his  gallant  father  commands,  there  came 
over  no  more  annual  shawls  and  presents  to  Dr.  and  Miss 
Birch ;  and  that  if  she  fancied  the  Colonel  was  coming  home  to 
marry  her  (on  account  of  her  tenderness  to  his  motherless 
children,  which  he  was  always  writing  about),  tltat  notion  was 
very  soon  given  up.  But  these  affairs  are  of  early  date,  seven 
years  back,  and  I  only  heard  of  them  in  a  very  confused  manner 
from  Miss  Raby,  who  was  a  girl,  and  had  just  come  to  Rodwell 
Regis.  She  is  always  very  much  moved  when  she  speaks  about 
those  boys ;  which  is  but  seldom.  I  take  it  the  death  of  the 
little  one  still  grieves  her  tender  heart. 

Yes,  it  is  Miss  Birch,  who  has  turned  away  seventeen 
ushers  and  second-masters  in  eleven  years,  and  half  as  man}' 
French  masters,  I  suppose,  since  the  departure  of  her  favorite, 
M.  Grinche,  with  her  gold  watch,  &c.  ;  but  this  is  only  surmise 
—  that  is,  from  hearsay,  and  from  Miss  Rosa  taunting'^her  aunt, 
as  she  does  sometimes,  in  her  graceful  way :  but  besides  this,  I 
have  another  way  of  keeping  her  in  order.*^ 

Whenever  she  is  particularly  odious  or  insolent  to  Miss 
Raby,  I  have  but  to  introduce  raspberry  jam  into  the  conversa- 
tion, and  the  woman  holds  her  tongue.  She  will  understand 
me.    I  need  not  say  more. 

Note,  12tk  December.  — I  may  speak  now.  I  have  left  the 
place  and  don't  mind.    I  say  then  at  once,  and  without  caring 


72 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


twopence  for  the  consequences,  that  I  saw  this  woman,  this 
mother  of  the  boys,  eating  jam  with  a  spoon  out  of  Master 
WiGGiNs's  TRUNK  IN  THE  BOX-ROOM  :  and  of  this  I  am  ready  to 
take  an  aflSdavit  an}^  day. 


A  TRAGEDY. 

THE  DRAMA  OUGHT  TO  BE  REPRESENTED  IN  ABOUT  SIX  ACTS. 


[  The  school  is  hushed,  Lawrence  the  Prefect,  and  Custos  of  the 
rods,  is  marching  after  the  Doctor  info  the  operating-room. 
Master  Backhouse  is  ahont  to  follow.^ 

Master  Backhouse.  —  It's  all  voi'y  well,  but  you  see  if  I  don't 
pa}'  you  out  aftcT  school  —  you  sneak  you  ! 
Master  Lurcher,  —  If  you  do  I'll  tell  again. 

\_Exit  Backhouse. 

[  T7ie  rod  is  hear  ]  from  the  adjoining  apartment.  Hwish  —  hioish 
—  hwish  —  hwish  —  hwish  —  hwish  —  hivish  ! 

\_Re-enter  I^ackhouse. 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


73 


BRIGGS  IN  LUCK. 

Enter  the  Knife-hoy.  —  Hamper  for  Briggses  ! 
Master  Brown.  —  Hurray,  Tom  Briggs  !  Til  lend  you  my 
knife. 


If  this  story  does  not  carry  its  own  moral,  what  fable  does, 
I  wonder?  Before  the  arrival  of  that  hamper,  Master  Briggs 
was  in  no  better  repute  than  any  other  young  gentleman  of  the 
lower  school ;  and  in  fact  I  had  occasion  myself,  only  lately,  to 
correct  Master  Brown  for  kicking  his  friend's  shins  during  the 
writing-lesson.  But  how  this  basket,  directed  by  his  mother's 
housekeeper  and  marked  Glass  with  care,"  (whence  I  con- 
clude that  it  contains  some  jam  and  some  bottles  of  wine, 
probably,  as  well  as  the  usual  cake  and  game-pie,  and  half  a 
sovereign  for  the  elder  Master  B.,  and  five  new  shillings  for 
Master  Decimus  Briggs)  —  how,  I  sa}^,  the  arrival  of  this  basket 
alters  all  Master  Briggs's  circumstances. in  life,  and  the  estima- 
tion in  which  many  persons  regard  him  ! 

If  he  is  a  good-hearted  boy,  as  I  have  reason  to  think,  the 
ver}^  first  thing  he  will  do,  before  inspecting  the  contents  of  the 
hamper,  or  cutting  into  them  with  the  knife  which  Master 
Brown  has  so  considerately  lent  him,  will  be  to  read  over  the 
letter  from  home  which  lies  on  the  top  of  the  parcel.  He  does 
so,  as  I  remark  to  Miss  Raby  (for  whom  I  happened  to  be 
mending  pens  when  the  little  circumstance  arose),  with  a 
flushed  face  and  winking  eyes.  Look  how  the  other  bo3's  are 
peering  into  the  basket  as  he  reads.  —  I  say  to  her,  "  Isn't  it 
a  pretty  picture?"  Part  of  the  letter  is  in  a  very  large  hand. 
This  is  from  his  little  sister.  And  I  would  w^ager  that  she 
netted  the  little  purse  which  he  has  just  taken  out  of  it,  and 
which  Master  Lynx  is  eying. 

You  are  a  droll  man,  and  remark  all  sorts  of  queer  things," 
Miss  Raby  says,  smiling,  and  plying  her  swift  needle  and  fingers 
as  quick  as  possible. 

"I  am  glad  we  are  both  on  the  spot,  and  that  the  little 
fellow  lies  under  our  guns  as  it  w^ere,  and  so  is  protected  from 
some  such  brutal  school-pirate  as  young  Duval  for  instance, 
who  would  rob  him,  probably,  of  some  of  those  good  things  ; 
good  in  themselves,  and  better  because  fresh  from  home.  See, 


74 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


there  is  a  pie  as  I  said,  and  which  I  dare  say  is  better  than 
those  which  are  served  at  our  table  (but  you  never  take  any 
notice  of  such  kind  of  things,  Miss  Rab}") ,  a  cake  of  course,  a 
bottle  of  currant-wine,  jam-pots,  and  no  end  of  pears  in  the 
straw.  With  their  money  little  Briggs  will  be  able  to  pay  the 
tick  which  that  imprudent  child  has  run  up  with  Mrs.  Ruggles ; 
and  I  shall  let  Briggs  Major  pay  for  the  pencil-case  w^hich 
Bullock  sold  to  him.  — It  will  be  a  lesson  to  the  young  prodigal 
for  the  future.  But,  I  sa}^,  what  a  change  there  will  be  in  his 
life  for  some  time  to  come,  and  at  least  until  his  present  wealth 
is  spent !  The  bo3^s  who  bully  him  will  mollify  towards  him,  and 
accept  his  pie  and  sweetmeats.  They  will  have  feasts  in  the  bed- 
room ;  and  that  wine  will  taste  more  delicious  to  them  than  the 
best  out  of  the  Doctor's  cellar.  The  cronies  will  be  invited. 
Young  Master  Wagg  wall  tell  his  most  dreadful  story  and  sing 
bis  best  song  for  a  slice  of  that  pie.  What  a  jolly  night  they 
will  have  !  When  we  go  the  rounds  at  night,  Mr.  Prince  and 
I  will  take  care  to  make  a  noise  before  we  come  to  Briggs's 
room,  so  that  the  boys  may  have  time  to  put  the  light  out,  to 
push  the  things  away,  and  to  scud  into  bed.  Doctor  Spry  may 
be  put  in  requisition  the  next  morning." 

''Nonsense!  3^ou  absurd  creature,"  cries  out  Miss  Raby, 
laughing  ;  and  I  lay  down  the  twelfth  pen  very  nicely  mended. 

''  Yes  ;  after  luxury  comes  the  doctor,  I  say  ;  after  extrava- 
gance a  hole  in  the  breeches  pocket.  To  judge  from  his 
disposition,  Briggs  Major  will  not  be  much  better  off  a  couple 
of  days  hence  than  he  is  now ;  and.  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  will 
end  life  a  poor  man.  Brown  will  be  kicking  his  shins  before 
a  week  is  over,  depend  upon  it.  There  are  boys  and  men  of  all 
sorts,  Miss  R. — There  are  selfish  sneaks  who  hoard  until  the 
store  they  daren't  use  grows  mouldy  —  there  are  spendthrifts 
who  fling  awa}',  parasites  who  flatter  and  lick  its  shoes,  and 
snarling  curs  who  hate  and  envy,  good  fortune." 

I  put  down  the  last  of  the  pens,  brushing  awa}^  with  it  the 
quill-cliips  fi'om  her  desk  first,  and  she  looked  at  me  with  a 
kind,  wondering  face.  I  brushed  them  away,  clicked  the  pen- 
knife into  my  i)ocket,  made  her  a  bow,  and  walked  ofi[' — for  the 
bell  was  ringing  for  school. 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FKIENDS. 


75 


A  YOUNG  FELLOW  WHO  IS  PRETTY  SURE  TO 
SUCCEED. 

If  Master  Briggs  is  destined  in  all  probability  to  be  a  poor 
man,  the  chances  are  that  Mr.  Bullock  will  have  a  very  dif- 
ferent lot.  He  is  a  son  of  a  partner  of  the  eminent  bank- 
ing firm  of  Bullock  and  Hulker,  Lombard  Street,  and  ycij 
high  in  the  upper  school  —  quite  out  of  my  jurisdiction,  con- 
sequently. 

He  writes  the  most  beautiful  current-hand  ever  seen ;  and 
the  wa}^  in  which  he  mastered  arithmetic  (going  away  into 
recondite  and  wonderful  rules  in  the  Tutor's  Assistant,  which 
some  masters  even  dare  not  approach,)  is  described  by  the 
Doctor  in  terms  of  admiration.  He  is  Mr.  Prince's  best 
algebra  pupil ;  and  a  ver}^  fair  classic,  too ;  doing  everj'thing 
well  for  which  he  has  a  mind. 

He  does  not  busy  himself  with  the  sports  of  his  comrades, 
and  holds  a  cricket-bat  no  better  than  Miss  Raby  would.  He 
employs  the  play-hours  in  improving  his  mind,  and  reading  the 
newspaper ;  he  is  a  profound  politician,  and,  it  must  be  owned, 
on  the  liberal  side.  The  elder  boys  despise  him  rather ;  and 
when  champion  Major  passes,  he  turns  his  head,  and  looks 
down.  I  don't  like  the  expression  of  Bullock's  narrow  green 
e3'es,  as  the}^  follow  the  elder  Champion,  who  does  not  seem  to 
know  or  care  how  much  the  other  hates  him. 

No.  Mr.  Bullock,  though  perhaps  the  cleverest  and  most 
accomplished  boy  in  the  school,  associates  with  the  quite  little 
boys  when  he  is  minded  for  societ}-.  To  these  he  is  quite 
affable,  courteous,  and  winning.  He  never  fagged  or  thrashed 
one  of  them.  He  has  done  the  verses  and  corrected  ttie  exer- 
cises of  man}',  and  man}-  is  the  little  lad  to  whom  he  has  lent  a 
little  money. 

It  is  true  he  charges  at  the  rate  of  a  penny  a  week  for 
every  sixpence  lent  out ;  but  many  a  fellow  to  whom  tarts  are 
a  present  necessity  is  happy  to  pay  this  interest  for  the  loan. 
These  transactions  are  kept  secret.  Mr.  Bullock,  in  rather  a 
whining  tone,  when  he  takes  Master  Green  aside  and  does  the 
requisite  business  for  him,  says,  Y^ou  know  you'll  go  and  talk 
about  it  everywhere.  I  don't  want  to  lend  you  the  money,  I 
want  to  buy  something  with  it.  It's  only  to  oblige  you  ;  and 
yet  I  am  sure  you  will  go  and  make  fun  of  me."    Whereon,  of 


76 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


course,  Green,  eager  for  the  money,  vows  solemnl}'  that  the 
transaction  shall  be  confidential,  and  only  speaks  when  the 
payment  of  the  interest  becomes  oppressive. 

Thus  it  is  that  Mr.  Bullock's  practices  are  at  all  known.  At 
a  ver}^  earl}^  period,  indeed,  his  commercial  genius  manifested 
itself :  and  b}'  happy  speculations  in  toffey  ;  by  composing  a 
sweet  drink  made  of  stick-liquorice  and  brown  sugar,  and 
selling  it  at  a  profit  to  the  younger  children  ;  by  purchasing  a 
series  of  novels,  which  he  let  out  at  an  adequate  remuneration  ; 
b}'  doing  boys'  exercises  for  a  penny,  and  other  processes,  he 
showed  the  bent  of  his  mind;  At  the  end  of  the  half-3^ear  he 
always  went  home  richer  than  when  he  arrived  at  school,  with 
his  purse  full  of  mone3\ 

Nobody  knows  how  much  he  brought :  but  the  accounts  are 
fabulous.  Twent}^,  thirty,  fift}'  — it  is  impossible  to  say  how 
man}'  sovereigns.  When  joked  about  his  mone}^,  he  turns 
pale  and  swears  he  has  not  a  shilling :  whereas  he  has  had  a 
banker's  account  ever  since  he  was  thirteen. 

At  the  presont  moment  he  is  emplo3'ed  in  negotiating  the  sale 
of  a  knife  with  Master  Green,  and  is  pointing  out  to  the  latter 
the  beauty  of  the  six  blades,  and  that  he  need  not  pay  until 
after  the  hoHdays. 

Champion  Major  has  sworn  that  he  will  break  every  bone  in 
his  skin  the  next  time  that  he  cheats  a  little  boy,  and  is  bearing 
down  upon  him.  Let  us  come  away.  It  is  frightful  to  see  that 
big  peaceful  clever  coward  moaning  under  well-deserved  blows 
and  whining  for  mercy. 


DUVAL  THE  PIRATE. 

Jones  Minimus  passes^  laden  loith  tarts, 
Duval.  — IIullo  !  you  small  boy  with  the  tarts  !    Come  hero, 

sir. 

J(mes  Minimus.  —  Phrase, 'Duval,  they  ain't  min(\ 
Duval.  — (Jli,  you  abominable  young  story-teUer. 

[^Ile  ronjiscates  the  goods, 

I  think  T  like  young  Duvnl's  mode  of  levying  contributions 
b(;tter  than  Bnllociv's.  Tlui  former's,  at  least,  has  the  merit 
of  more  candor.  Duv.'il  is  the  pirate  of  IVireh's,  and  lies  in 
wait  for  small  boys  laden  with  money  or  i)r()vender.    lie  scents 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


77 


plunder  from  afar  off:  and  pounces  out  on  it.  Woe  betide  the 
little  fellow  when  Duval  boards  him ! 

There  was  a  youth  here  whose  money  I  used  to  keep,  as  he 
was  of  an  extravagant  and  weak  taste  ;  and  I  doled  it  out  to 
him  in  weekly  shillings,  sufficient  for  the  purch^tse  of  the  neces- 
sary tarts.  This  boy  came  to  me  one  day  for  half  a  sovereign, 
for  a  very  particular  purpose,  he  said.  I  afterwards  found  he 
wanted  to  lend  the  money  to  Duval. 

The  young  ogre  burst  out  laughing,  when  in  a  great  wrath 
and  fury  I  ordered  him  to  refund  to  the  little  boy  :  and  pro- 
posed a  bill  of  exchange  at  three  months.  It  is  true  Duval's 
father  does  not  pay  the  Doctor,  and  the  lad  never  has  a  shilling, 
save  that  which  he  levies  ;  and  though  he  is  alwa^^s  bragging 
about  the  splendor  of  Freenystown,  Co.  Cork,  and  the  fox- 
hounds his  father  keeps,  and  tlie  claret  they  drink  there  —  there 
comes  no  remittance  from  Castle  Freenj^  in  these  bad  times  to 
the  honest  Doctor ;  who  is  a  kindly  man  enough,  and  never  yet 
turned  an  insolvent  boy  out  of  doors. 


THE  DORMITORIES. 

MASTER  HEWLETT  AND  MASTER  NIGHTINGALE 

(Rather  a  cold  winter  night.) 

Hewlett  {fiinging  a  shoe  at  Master  Nightingale' s  bed,  with  which 
he  hits  that  young  gentleman),  —  Hullo,  you  I  Get  up  and  bring 
me  that  shoe  ! 

Nightingale.  — Yes,  Hewlett.     {He  gets  vp.) 

Hewlett.  —  Don't  drop  it,  and  be  ver}'  careful  of  it,  sir. 

Nightingale.  — Yes,  Hewlett. 

Heiolett.  —  Silence  in  the  dormitor}' !  Any  boy  who  opens 
his  mouth,  I'll  murder  him.  Now,  sir,  are  not  j'ou  the  boy 
what  can  sing? 

Nightingale.  — Yes,  Hewlett. 

Hewlett. — Chant,  then,  till  I  go  to  sleep,  and  if  I  wake 
when  3^ou  stop,  you'll  have  this  at  3'our  head. 

[Master  Hewlett  lays  his  Bluchers  on  the  bed,  ready  to  shy  at 
Master  Nightingale's  head  in  the  case  contemplated.'] 


78  DOCTOR  BIRCH 

Nightingale  {timidly),  — Please,  Hewlett? 
Hewlett,  — W^W,  sir? 

Nightingale,  — May  I  put  on  my  trousers,  please? 
Hewlett.  — iVb,  sir.    Go  on,  or  I'll  — 
Nightingale.  — 

Through  pleasures  and  palaces 
Though  we  may  roam, 

Be  it  ever  so  humble, 
There's  no  place  like  home." 


A  CAPTURE  AND  A  RESCUE. 

My  young  friend,  Patrick  Champion,  George's  younger 
brother,  is  a  late  arrival  among  us ;  has  much  of  the  family 
quality  and  good  nature  ;  is  not  in  the  least  a  tyrant  to  the 
small  boys,  but  is  as  eager  as  Amadis  to  fight.  He  is  box- 
ing his  way  up  the  school,  emulating  his  great  brother.  He 
fixes  his  eye  on  a  boy  above  him  in  strength  or  size,  and  you 
hear  somehow  that  a  difterence  has  arisen  between  them  at  foot- 
ball, and  the^^  have  their  coats  off  presently.  He  has  thrashed 
himself  over  the  heads  of  many  youths  in  this  manner :  for  in- 
stance, if  Champion  can  lick  Dobson,  who  can  thrash  Ilobson, 
how  much  more,  then,  can  he  thrash  Hobson?  Thus  he  works 
up  and  establishes  his  position  in  the  school.  Nor  does  Mr. 
Prince  think  it  advisable  that  we  ushers  should  walk  much  in 
the  way  when  these  little  differences  are  being  settled,  unless 
there  is  some  gross  disparity,  or  danger  is  apprehended. 

For  instance,  I  own  to  having  seen  this  row  as  I  was 
shaving  at  my  bedroom  window.  I  did  not  hasten  down  to 
prevent  its  consequences.  Fogle  had  confiscated  a  top,  the 
property  of  Snivins  ;  the  which,  as  the  little  wretch  was  alvva3's 
pegging  it  at  my  toes,  I  did  not  regret.  Snivins  whimpered ; 
and  young  Champion  came  up,  lusting  for  battle.  Directly  he 
made  out  Fogle,  he  steered  for  him,  pulling  up  his  coat-sleeves, 
and  clearing  for  action. 

"  Wlio  spoke  to  3'oung  Champion?  "  Fogle  said,  and  he 
flung  down  the  top  to  Master  Snivins.  I  knew  there  would  be 
no  fight ;  and  perhaps  Champion,  too,  was  disappointed. 


AND  HIS  fOUNG  FRIENDS. 


79 


THE  GARDEN, 

WHERE  THE  PARLOR- BOARDERS  GO. 

Noblemen  have  been  rather  scarce  at  Birch's  —  but  the  heir 
oi  a  great  Prince  has  been  hving  with  the  Doctor  for  some 
years.  —  He  is  Lord  George  Gaunt's  eldest  son,  the  noble 
Plantagenet  Gaunt  Gaunt,  and  nephew  of  the  Most  Honorable 
the  Marquis  of  Steyne. 

They  are  very  proud  of  him  at  the  Doctor's  —  and  the  two 
Misses  and  Papa,  whenever  a  stranger  comes  down  whom  they 
want  to  dazzle,  are  pretty  sure  to  bring  Lord  Steyne  into  the 
conversation,  mention  the  last  party  at  Gaunt  House,  and 
cursorily  to  remark  that  they  have  with  them  a  young  friend 
who  will  be,  in  all  human  probabihty,  Marquis  of  Steyne  and 
Earl  of  Gaunt,  &c. 

Plantagenet  does  not  care  much  about  these  future  honors : 
provided  he  can  get  some  brown  sugar  on  his  bread-and-butter, 
or  sit  with  three  chairs  and  play  at  coach-and-horses  quite 
quietly  by  himself,  he  is  tolerably  happ3\  He  saunters  in  and 
out  of  school  when  he  likes,  and  looks  at  the  masters  and  other 
boys  with  a  listless  grin.  He  used  to  be  taken  to  church,  but 
he  laughed  and  talked  in  odd  places,  so  the}^  are  forced  to  leave 
him  at  home  now.  He  will  sit  W'ith  a  bit  of  string  and  play 
cat's-cradle  for  many  hours.  He  likes  to  go  and  join  the  very 
small  cliiklren  at  their  games.  Some  are  frightened  at  him ; 
but  the}'  soon  cease  to  fear,  and  order  him  about.  I  have  seen 
him  go  and  fetch  tarts  from  Mrs.  Ruggles  for  a  bo}^  of  eight 
years  old  ;  and  cry  bitterly  if  he  did  not  get  a  piece.  He  can- 
not speak  quite  plain,  but  very  nearly ;  and  is  not  more,  I 
suppose,  than  three-and-twent3\ 

Of  course  at  home  they  know  his  age,  though  they  never 
come  and  see  him.  But  they  forget  that  Miss  Rosa  Birch  is 
no  longer  a  3'oung  chit  as  she  was  ten  years  ago,  when  Gaunt 
was  brought  to  the  school.  On  the  contrary,  she  has  had  no 
small  experience  in  the  tender  passion,  and  is  at  this  moment 
smitten  with  a  disinterested  affection  for  Plantagenet  Gaunt. 

Next  to  a  little  doll  with  a  burnt  nose,  which  he  hides  away 
in  cunning  places,  Mr.  Gaunt  is  ver}'  fond  of  Miss  Rosa  too. 
What  a  pretty  match  it  would  make  !  and  how  pleased  they 
would  be  at  Gaunt  House,  if  the  grandson  and  heir  of  the  great 


80 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


Marquis  of  Stejme,  the  descendant  of  a  hundred  Gaunts  and 
Tudors,  should  marry  Miss  Birch,  the  schoohnaster's  daughter  ! 
It  is  true  she  has  the  sense  on  her  side,  and  poor  Plantagenet 
is  onl}"  an  idiot :  but  there  he  is,  a  zany,  with  such  expectations 
and  such  a  pedigree  ! 

If  Miss  Rosa  would  run  away  with  Mr.  Gaunt,  she  would 
leave  off  bullying  her  cousin,  Miss  Anny  Raby.  Shall  I  put 
her  up  to  the  notion,  and  offer  to  lend  her  the  mone}^  to  run 
away?  Mr.  Gaunt  is  not  allowed  money.  He  had  some  once, 
but  Bullock  took  him  into  a  corner,  and  got  it  from  him.  He 
has  a  moderate  tick  opened  at  a  tart-woman's.  He  stops  at 
Rodwell  Regis  through  the  year  :  school-time  and  holiday-time, 
it  is  all  the  same  to  him.  Nobody  asks  al)out  him,  or  thinks 
about  him,  save  twice  a  3"ear,  when  the  Doctor  goes  to  Gaunt 
House,  and  gets  the  amount  of  his  bills,  and  a  glass  of  wine  in 
the  steward's  room. 

And  yet  you  see  somehow  that  he  is  a  gentleman.  His 
manner  is  different  to  that  of  the  owners  of  that  coarse  table 
and  parlor  at  which  he  is  a  boarder  (I  do  not  speak  of  Miss  R. 
of  course,  for  her  manners  are  as  good  as  those  of  a  duchess). 
When  he  caught  Miss  Rosa  boxing  little  Fiddes's  ears,  his 
face  grew  red,  and  he  broke  into  a  fierce  inarticulate  rage. 
After  that,  and  for  some  days,  he  used  to  shrink  from  her ;  but 
they  are  reconciled  now.  I  saw  them  this  afternoon  in  the 
garden  where  only  the,  parlor-boarders  walk.  He  was  playful, 
and  touched  her  with  his  stick.  She  raised  her  handsome  e\'es 
in  surprise,  and  smiled  on  him  very  kindly. 

The  thing  was  so  clear,  that  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  speak 
to  old  Zoe  about  it.  The  wicked  old  catamaran  told  me  she 
wished  that  some  people  would  mind  their  own  business,  and 
hold  their  tongues  —  that  some  persons  were  paid  to  teach 
writing,  and  not  to  tell  tales  and  make  mischief :  and  I  have 
since  been  thinking  whether  I  ought  to  communicate  with  the 
Doctor. 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


81 


THE  OLD  PUPIL. 

As  I  came  into  the  playgroimcls  this  morning,  I  saw  a  clash- 
ing young  fellow,  with  a  tanned  face  and  a  blond  moustache, 
who  was  walking  up  and  down  the  green  arm-in-arm  with 
Champion  Major,  and  followed  by  a  little  crowd  of  boys. 

They  were  talking  of  old  times  evidently.  ''What  had 
become  of  Irvine  and  Smith?"  — ''  Where  was  Bill  Harris  and 
Jones  :  not  Squinny  Jones,  but  Cocky  Jones?  "  —  and  so  forth. 
The  gentleman  was  no  stranger  ;  he  was  an  old  pupil  evidently, 
come  to  see  if  an}^  of  his  old  comrades  remained,  and  revisit 
the  carl  luoghi  of  his  3^outh. 

Champion  was  evidently  proud  of  his  arm-fellow.  He  espied 
his  brother,  young  Champion,  and  introduced  him.  ''  Come 
here,  sir,"  he  called.  ''The  young  'un  wasn't  here  in  your 
time,  Davison."  "  Pat,  sir,"  said  he,  "  this  is  Captain  Davison, 
one  of  Birch's  boys.  Ask  him  who  was  among  the  first  in  the 
lines  at  Sobraon  ?  " 

Pat's  face  kindled  up  as  he  looked  Davison  full  in  the  face, 
and  held  out  his  hand.  Old  Champion  and  Davison  both 
blushed.  The  infantr}^  set  up  a  "Hurray,  hurra3%  hurray," 
Champion  leading,  and  waving  his  wide-awake.  I  protest  that 
the  scene  did  one  good  to  witness.  Here  was  the  hero  and 
cock  of  the  school  come  back  to  see  his  old  haunts  and  cronies. 
He  had  always  remembered  them.  Since  he  had  seen  them 
last,  he  had  faced  death  and  achieved  honor.  But  for  my 
dignit}'  I  would  have  shied  up  my  hat  too. 

With  a  resolute  step,  and  his  arm  still  linked  in  Champion's, 
Captain  Davison  now  advanced,  followed  b}'  a  wake  of  little 
boys,  to  that  corner  of  the  green  where  Mrs.  Ruggies  has  her 
tart  stand. 

"Hullo,  Mother  Ruggies!  don't  you  remember  me?"  he 
said,  and  shook  her  by  the  hand. 

"Lor,  if  it  ain't  Davison  Major!"  she  said.  "Well, 
Davison  Major,  you  owe  me  fourpence  for  two  sausage-rolls 
from  when  3'ou  went  away." 

Davison  laughed,  and  all  the  little  crew  of  boys  set  up  a 
similar  chorus. 

"I  buy  the  whole  shop,"  he  said.  "Now,  young 'uns  — 
eat  away ! " 

Then  there  was  such  a  "  Hurrnv  !  hurrav  I  "  as  surpassed 

G 


82 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


the  foimer  cheer  in  loudness.  Ever3^body  engaged  in  it  except 
Piggy  Duff,  who  made  an  instant  dash  at  the  three-cornered 
puffs,  but  was  stopped  by  Champion,  who  said  there  should  be 
a  fair  distribution.  And  so  there  was,  and  no  one  lacked, 
neither  of  raspberry,  open  tarts,  nor  of  mellifluous  buUs'-eyes, 
nor  of  polonies,  beautiful  to  the  sight  and  taste. 

The  hurraying  brought  out  the  old  Doctor  himself,  who  put 
his  hand  up  to  his  spectacles  and  started  when  he  saw  the  old 
pupil.  Each  blushed  when  he  recognized  the  other  ;  for  seven 
years  ago  they  had  parted  not  good  friends. 

"What  —  Davison?"  the  Doctor  said,  with  a  tremulous 
voice.  "God  bless  ,you,  my  dear  fellow!"  —  and  they  shook 
hands.  "  A  half-hohday,  of  course,  boys,"  he  added,  and  there 
was  another  hurray :  there  was  to  be  no  end  to  the  cheering 
that  da}'. 

"  How's  —  how's  the  family,  sir?"  Captain  Davison  asked. 

"  Come  in  and  see.  Rosa's  grown  quite  a  lady.  Dine  with 
us,  of  course.  Champion  Major,  come  to  dinner  at  five.  Mr. 
Titmarsh,  the  pleasure  of  your  company?  "  The  Doctor  swung 
open  the  garden  gate :  the  old  master  and  pupil  entered  the 
house  reconciled. 

I  thought  I  would  first  peep  into  Miss  Raby's  room,  and 
tell  her  of  this  event.  She  was  working  away  at  her  linen  there, 
as  usual  quiet  and  cheerful. 

"You  should  put  up,"  I  said  with  a  smile;  "the  Doctor 
has  given  us  a  half-holiday." 

"  I  never  have  holidays,"  Miss  Raby  replied. 

Then  I  told  her  of  the  scene  I  had  just  witnessed,  of  the 
arrival  of  the  old  pupil,  the  purchase  of  the  tarts,  the  proclama- 
tion of  the  holiday,  and  the  shouts  of  the  bo3'S  of  "  Hurray, 
Davison !  " 

"  Who  is  it?"  cried  out  Miss  Rab}^,  starting  and  turning  as 
white  as  a  sheet. 

I  told  her  it  was  Captain  Davison  from  India  ;  and  described 
the  appearance  and  behavior  of  the  Captain.  When  I  had 
finished  speaking,  slie  asked  me  to  go  and  get  her  a  glass  of 
water ;  she  felt  unwell.  But  she  was  gone  when  I  came  back 
with  the  water. 


I  know  all  now.  After  sitting  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with 
the  Doctor,  who  attributcMl  liis  guest's  uncasinc^ss  no  doubt  to 
his  desire  to  see  Miss  Rosa  liirch,  Davison  started  up  and  said 
he  wanted  to  sec  Miss  Raby.    "You  remember,  sir,  how  kind 


Miss  Birch's  Elower  Garden. 


LIBRARY 
Of  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


83 


she  was  to  1113' little  brother,  sir?"  he  said.  Whereupon  the 
Doctor,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  that  anybod}^  should  want  to 
see  Miss  Raby,  said  she  was  in  the  little  school-room  ;  whither 
the  Captain  went,  knowing  the  way  from  old  times. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Miss  B.  and  Miss  Z.  returned 
from  a  drive  with  Plantagenet  Gaunt  in  their  one-horse  flj^,  and 
being  informed  of  Davison's  arrival,  and  that  he  was  closeted 
with  Miss  Raby  in  the  little  school-room,  of  course  made  for 
that  apartment  at  once.  I  was  coming  into  it  from  the  other 
door.    I  wanted  to  know  whether  she  had  drunk  the  water. 

This  is  what  both  parties  saw.  The  two  were  in  this  very 
attitude.  ''Well,  upon  my  word ! "  cries  out  Miss  Zoe  ;  but 
Davison  did  not  let  go  his  hold ;  and  Miss  Raby's  head  only 
sank  down  on  his  hand. 

You  must  get  another  governess,  sir,  for  the  little  boys," 
Frank  Davison  said  to  the  Doctor.  "  Anny  Raby  has  promised 
to  come  with  me." 

You  may  suppose  I  shut  to  the  door  on  my  side.  And 
when  I  returned  to  the  little  school-room,  it  was  black  and 
empty.  Everybody  was  gone.  I  could  hear  the  boys  shouting 
at  play  in  the  green  outside.  The  glass  of  water  was  on  the 
table  where  I  had  placed  it.  I  took  it  and  drank  it  mj'self,  to 
the  health  of  Anny  Raby  and  her  husband.  It  was  rather  a 
choker. 

But  of  course  I  wasn't  going  to  stop  on  at  Birch's.  When 
his  young  friends  reassemble  on  the  1st  of  February  next,  they 
will  have  two  new  masters.  Prince  resigned  too,  and  is  at 
present  living  with  me  at  my  old  lodgings  at  Mrs.  Cammysole's. 
If  any  nobleman  or  gentleman  wants  a  private  tutor  for  his 
son,  a  note  to  the  Rev.  F.  Prince  will  find  him  there. 

Miss  Clapperclaw  says  we  are  both  a  couple  of  old  fools  ;  and 
that  she  knew  when  I  set  off  last  year  to  Rod  well  Regis,  after 
meeting  the  two  young  ladies  at  a  party  at  General  Champion's 
house  in  our  street,  that  I  was  going  on  a  goose's  errand.  I 
shall  dine  there  on  Christmas-day  ;  and  so  I  wish  a  merry 
Christmas  to  all  young  and  old  bo^^s. 


DOCTOR  BIRCH 


EPILOGUE. 

The  pla}^  is  done ;  the  curtain  drops, 
Slow  falling,  to  the  prompter's  bell : 
A  moment  yet  the  actor  stops, 
And  looks  around,  to  sa}^  farewell. 
It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task ; 
And  when  he's  laughed  and  said  his  say, 
He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 
A  face  that's  anj^ thing  but  gay. 

One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends. 
Let's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme, 
And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young  friends. 
As  fits  the  merry  Christmas  time. 
On  life's  wide  scene  you,  too,  have  parts, 
That  Fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you  play ; 
Good  night !  with  honest  gentle  hearts 
A  kindly  greeting  go  alway  ! 

Good  night !  I'd  say  the  griefs,  the  joys, 
Just  hinted  in  this  mimic  page. 
The  triumphs  and  defeats  of  boys, 
Are  but  repeated  in  our  age. 
I'd  say,  your  woes  were  not  less  keen, 
Your  hopes  more  vain,  than  those  of  men 
Your  paugs  or  pleasures  of  fifteen, 
At  forty-five  played  o'er  again. 

I'd  say,  we  suflTer  and  we  strive 
Not  less  nor  more  as  men  than  boys  ; 
With  grizzled  beards  at  forty-five, 
As  erst  at  twelve,  in  corduroys. 
And  if,  in  time  of  sacred  youth, 
We  learned  at  home  to  love  and  pra}^ 
Pray  heaven,  that  eai  ly  love  and  truth 
May  never  wholly  pass  away. 

And  in  the  woi-ld,  as  in  the  school, 

I'd  say,  how  fate  may  change  and  shift; 


AND  HIS  YOU^^G  FRIENDS. 

The  prize  be  sometimes  with  the  fool, 

The  race  not  always  to  the  swift. 

The  strong  may  yield,  the  good  may  fall, 

The  great  man  be  a  vulgar  clown. 

The  knave  be  lifted  over  all, 

The  kind  cast  pitilessly  down. 

Who  knows  the  inscrutable  design? 

Blessed  be  He  who  took  and  gave : 

Why  should  your  mother,  Charles,  not  mine, 

Be  weeping  at  her  darling's  grave  ?  * 

We  bow  to  heaven  that  wilFd  it  so. 

That  darkly  rules  the  fate  of  all. 

That  sends  the  respite  or  the  blow. 

That's  free  to  give  or  to  recall. 

This  crowns  his  feast  with  wine  and  wit : 

Who  brought  him  to  that  mirth  and  state  ? 

His  betters,  see,  below  him  sit. 

Or  hunger  hopeless  at  the  gate. 

Who  bade  the  mud  from  Dives'  Wheel 

To  spurn  the  rags  of  Lazarus  ? 

Come,  brother,  in  that  dust  we'll  kneel. 

Confessing  heaven  that  ruled  it  thus. 

So  each  shall  mourn  in  life's  advance, 
Dear  hopes,  dear  friends,  untimely  killed; 
Shall  grieve  for  many  a  forfeit  chance, 
A  longing  passion  unfulfilled. 
Amen  :  whatever  Fate  be  sent,  — 
Pray  God  the  heart  may  kindly  glow, 
Although  the  head  with  cares  be  bent, 
And  whitened  with  the  winter  snow. 

Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 
Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part. 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 
And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart. 
Who  misses,  or  who  wins  the  prize? 
Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can : 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise. 
Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman, 


*C.  B.,  ob.  Dec.  1843,  set  42. 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  fllS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 

A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young : 
(Bear  kindl}'  with  my  humble  lays,) 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 
Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days. 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead  — 
The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then : 
Glory  to  heaven  on  high,  it  said, 
And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men. 

My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth  ; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 

And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth, 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas  tide. 

As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth. 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still  — 

Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth, 

To  men  of  gentle  will. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 

ON  THE  EHINE. 
Bt  MR.  M.  A.  TITMARSH. 


PEEFACE 


TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION: 

BEING  AN  ESSAY  ON  THUNDER  AND  SMALL 
BEER. 

Any  reader  who  may  have  a  fancy  to  purchase  a  cop}'  of 
this  present  edition  of  the  History  of  the  Kicklebur3^s  Abroad/' 
had  best  be  warned  in  time,  that  the  Times  newspaper  does  not 
approve  of  the  work,  and  has  but  a  bad  opinion  both  of  the 
author  and  his  readers.  Nothing  can  be  fairer  than  this  state- 
ment :  if  you  happen  to  take  up  the  poor  httle  vohmie  at  a  rail- 
road station,  and  read  this  sentence,  la}"  the  book  down,  and 
buy  something  else.  You  are  warned.  What  more  can  the 
author  say  ?  If  after  this  you  will  buy,  —  amen !  pay  your 
money,  take  your  book,  and  fall  to.  Between  ourselves,  hon- 
est reader,  it  is  no  very  strong  potation  which  the  present  pur- 
veyor offers  to  you.  It  will  not  trouble  your  head  much  in 
the  drinking.  It  was  intended  for  that  sort  of  negus  which 
is  offered  at  Christmas  parties  ;  and  of  which  ladies  and  chil- 
dren may  partake  with  refreshment  and  cheerfulness.  Last 
year  I  tried  a  brew  which  was  old,  bitter,  and  strong ;  and 
scarce  any  one  would  drink  it.  This  year  we  send  round  a 
milder  tap,  and  it  is  liked  by  customers  :  though  the  critics 
(who  like  strong  ale,  the  rogues  !)  turn  up  their  noses.  In 
heaven's  name,  Mr.  Smith,  serve  round  the  liquor  to  the  gentle- 
folks. Pray,  dear  madam,  another  glass  ;  it  is  Christmas  time, 
it  will  do  you  no  harm.  It  is  not  intended  to  keep  long,  this 
sort  of  *drink.    (Come,  froth  up,  Mr.  Pubhsher,  and  pass 


90 


PREFACE 


quickl}^  round !)  And  as  for  the  professional  gentlemen,  we 
must  get  a  stronger  sort  for  them  some  day. 

The  Times'  gentleman  (a  very  difficult  gent  to  please)  is 
the  loudest  and  noisiest  of  all,  and  has  made  more  hideous 
faces  over  the  refreshment  offered  to  him  than  any  other  critic. 
There  is  no  use  shirking  this  statement !  when  a  man  has  been 
abused  in  the  Times^  he  can't  hide  it,  any  more  than  he  could 
hide  the  knowledge  of  his  having  been  committed  to  prison  by 
Mr.  Henr}^,  or  publicly  caned  in  Pall  Mall.  You  see  it  in  your 
friends'  eyes  when  they  meet  3^ou.  Tlie}^  know  it.  They  have 
chuckled  over  it  to  a  man.  The}'  whisper  about  it  at  the  club, 
and  look  over  the  paper  at  you.  My  next-door  neighbor  came 
to  see  me  this  morning,  and  I  saw  by  his  face  that  he  had  the 
whole  story  pat.  "  Hem  I  "  sa3's  he,  well,  I  have  heard  of  it ; 
and  the  fact  is,  they  were  talking  about  you  at  dinner  last  night, 
and  mentioning  that  the  Times  had  —  ahem !  —  '  walked  into 
you.'" 

My  good  M  "  I  sa}^  —  and  M  will  corroborate,  if 

need  be,  the  statement  I  make  here  —  ''here  is  the  Times' 
article,  dated  January  4tli,  which  states  so  and  so,  and  here 
is  a  letter  from  the  publisher,  likewise  dated  January  4th,  and 
which  says :  — 

"  My  dear  Sir,  — Having  this  da}^  sold  the  last  cop}'  of  the 
first  edition  (of  x  thousand)  of  the  '  Kickleburys  Abroad,'  and 
having  orders  for  more,  had  we  not  better  proceed  to  a  sec- 
ond edition?  and  will  3'ou  permit  me  to  enclose  an  order 
on,"  &c.  &c.  ? 

Singular  coincidence !  And  if  every  author  who  was  so 
abus(Kl  by  a  critic  had  a  similar  note  from  a  publisher,  good 
Lord  !  how  easily  would  we  take  the  critic's  censure  ! 

''  Yes,  yes,"  you  say;  ''it  is  all  very  well  for  a  writer  to 
affect  to  })e  indillerent  to  a  critique  from  the  Times,  You  bear 
it  as  a  boy  bears  a  flogging  at  school,  without  crying  out ;  but 
don't  swagger  and  l)rag  as  if  you  liked  it."  , 


TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


91 


Let  us  have  truth  before  all.  I  would  rather  have  a  good 
word  than  a  bad  one  from  any  person :  but  if  a  critic  abuses 
me  from  a  high  place,  and  it  is  worth  my  while,  I  will  appeal. 
If  I  can  show  that  the  judge  who  is  delivering  sentence  against 
me,  and  laying  down  the  law  and  making  a  pretence  of  learn- 
ing, has  no  learning  and  no  law,  and  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  pompous  noodle,  who  ought  not  to  be  heard  in  any 
respectable  court,  I  will  do  so  ;  and  then,  dear  friends,  perhaps 
3^ou  will  have  something  to  laugh  at  in  this  book.  — 

''THE  KICKLEBURYS  ABROAD. 

"  It  has  been  customary,  of  late  years,  for  the  purveyors  of  amusing 
literature  —  the  popular  authors  of  the  day  —  to  put  forth  certain  opus- 
cules, denominated  '  Christmas  Books,"  with  the  ostensible  intention  of 
swelling  the  tide  of  exhilaration,  or  other  expansive  emotions,  incident  upon 
the  exodus  of  the  old  and  the  inauguration  of  the  new  year.  We  have  said 
that  their  ostensible  intention  was  such,  because  there  is  another  motive  for 
these  productions,  locked  up  (as  the  popular  author  deems)  in  his  own 
breast,  but  which  betrays  itself,  in  the  quality  of  the  work,  as  his  principal 
incentive.  Oh!  that  any  muse  should  be  set  upon  a  high  stool  to  cast  up 
accounts  and  balance  a  ledger!  Yet  so  it  is  ;  and  the  popular  author  finds 
it  convenient  to  fill  up  the  declared  deficit,  and  place  himself  in  a  position 
the  more  effectually  to  encounter  those  liabilities  which  sternly  assert  them- 
selves contemporaneously  and  in  contrast  with  the  careless  and  free-handed 
tendencies  of  the  season  by  the  emission  of  Christmas  books  —  a  kind  of 
literary  assignats,  representing  to  the  emitter  expunged  debts,  to  the  receiver 
an  investment  of  enigmatical  value.  For  the  most  part  bearing  the  stamp 
of  their  origin  in  the  vacuity  of  the  writer's  exchequer  rather  than  in  the 
fulness  of  his  genius,  they  suggest  by  their  feeble  flavor  the  rinsings  of  a 
void  brain  after  the  more  important  concoctions  of  the  expired  year.  In- 
deed, we  should  as  little  think  of  taking  these  compositions  as  examples  of 
the  merits  of  their  authors  as  we  should  think  of  measuring  the  valuable 
services  of  Mr.  Walker,  tlie  postman,  or  Mr.  Bell,  the  dust-collector,  by  the 
copy  of  verses  they  leave  at  our  doors  as  a  provocative  of  the  expected 
annual  gratuity  —  effusions  with  which  they  may  fairly  be  classed  for  their 
intrinsic  worth  no  less  than  their  ultimate  purport. 

"  In  the  Christmas  book  presently  under  notice,  the  author  appears 
(under  the  thin  disguise  of  Mr.  Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh)  in  'propria 
persona '  as  the  popular  author,  the  contributor  to  Punch,  the  remorseless 
pursuer  of  unconscious  vulgarity  and  feeble-mindedness,  launched  upon  a 
tour  of  relaxation  to  the  Rhine.  But  tliough  exercising,  as  is  the  wont  of 
popular  authors  in  their  moments  of  leisure,  a  plentiful  reserve  of  those 
higher  qualities  to  which  they  are  indebted  for  their  fame,  his  professional 
instincts  are  not  altogether  in  abeyance.  From  the  moment  his  eye  lights 
upon  a  luckless  family  grqup  embarked  on  the  same  steamer  with  himself, 
the  sight  of  his  accustomed  quarry  —  vulgarity,  imbecility,  and  affectation 
—  reanimates  his  relaxed  sinews,  and,  playfully  fastening  his  satiric  fangs 
upon  the  familiar  prey,  he  dallies  with  it  in  mimic  ferocity  like  a  satiated 
mouser. 


92 


PREFACE 


"  Though  faintly  and  carelessly  indicated,  the  characters  are  those  with 
which  the  author  loves  to  surround  himself.  A  tuft-hunting  county  baro- 
net's widow,  an  inane  captain  of  dragoons,  a  graceless  young  baronet,  a 
lady  with  groundless  pretensions  to  feeble  health  and  poesy,  an  obsequious 
nonentity  her  husband,  and  a  flimsy  and  artificial  young  lady,  are  the  per- 
sonages in  whom  we  are  expected  to  find  amusement.  Two  individuals 
alone  form  an  exception  to  the  above  category,  and  are  offered  to  the 
respectful  admiration  of  the  reader,  — the  one,  a  shadowy  serjeant-at-law, 
Mr.  Titmarsh's  travelling  companion,  who  escapes  with  a  few  side  puffs  of 
flattery,  which  the  author  struggles  not  to  render  ironical,  and  a  mysterious 
countess,  spoken  of  in  a  tone  of  religious  reverence,  and  apparently  intro- 
duced that  we  may  learn  by  what  delicate  discriminations  our  adoration  of 
rank  should  be  regulated. 

To  those  who  love  to  hug  themselves  in  a  sense  of  superiority  by  ad- 
measurement with  the  most  worthless  of  their  species,  in  their  most  worth- 
less aspects,  the  Kic.kleburijs  on  the  Rhine  will  afford  an  agreeable  treat, 
especially  as  the  purveyor  of  the  feast  offers  his  own  moments  of  human 
weakness  as  a  modest  entree  in  this  banquet  of  erring  mortality.  To  our 
own,  perhaps  unphilosophical,  taste  the  aspirations  towards  sentimental 
perfection  of  another  popular  author  are  infinitely  preferable  to  these  sar- 
donic divings  after  the  pearl  of  truth,  whose  lustre  is  eclipsed  in  the  display  of  the 
diseased  oyster.  Much,  in  the  present  instance,  perhaps  all,  the  disagreeable 
effect  of  his  subject  is  no  doubt  attributable  to  the  absence  of  Mr.  Thack- 
eray's usual  brilliancy  of  style.  A  few  flashes,  however,  occur,  such  as 
the  description  of  M.  Lenoir's  gaming  establishment,  with  the  momentous 
crisis  to  which  it  was  subjected,  and  the  quaint  and  imaginative  sallies 
evoked  by  the  whole  town  of  Rouge tnoirbourg  and  its  lawful  prince. 
These,  with  the  illustrations,  which  are  spirited  enough,  redeem  the  book 
from  an  absolute  ban.  Mr.  Thackeray's  pencil  is  more  congenial  than  his 
pen.  He  cannot  draw  his  men  and  women  with  their  skins  off,  and,  there- 
fore, the  effigies  of  his  characters  are  pleasanter  to  contemplate  than  the 
flayed  anatomies  of  the  letter-press." 

There  is  the  whole  article.  And  the  reader  will  see  (in  the 
paragraph  preceding  that  memorable  one  which  winds  up  with 
the  diseased  oyster)  that  he  must  be  a  worthless  creature  for 
daring  to  like  the  book,  as  he  could  onl}^  do  so  from  a  desire  to 
hug  himself  in  a  sense  of  superiority  b}^  admeasurement  with 
the  most  worthless  of  his  fellow-creatures  ! 

The  reader  is  worthless  for  liking  a  book  of  which  all  the 
characters  are  worthless,  except  two,  which  are  oflTered  to  his 
respectful  admiration  ;  and  of  these  two  the  author  does  not 
respect  one,  but  struggl(\s  not  to  laugh  in  his  face  ;  whilst  he 
apparently  speaks  of  another  in  a  tone  of  religious  reverence, 
because  the  lady  is  a  countess,  and  because  he  (the  author)  is 
a  sneak.    So  reader,  author,  characters,  are  rogues  all.  Be 


TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


93 


there  any  honest  men  left,  Hal?  About  Printing-house  Square, 
mayhap  you  may  light  on  an  honest  man,  a  squeamish  man, 
a  proper  moral  man,  a  man  that  shall  talk  you  Latin  by  the 
half-column  if  you  will  but  hear  him. 

And  what  a  stj^le  it  is,  that  great  man's  !  What  hoighth  of 
foine  language  entoirely  !  How  he  can  discoorse  you  in  English 
for  all  the  world  as  if  it  was  Latin  !  For  instance,  suppose  you 
and  I  had  to  announce  the  important  news  that  some  writers 
published  what  are  called  Christmas  books ;  that  Christmas 
books  are  so  called  because  they  are  published  at  Christmas  : 
and  that  the  purpose  of  the  authors  is  to  tr}^  and  amuse  people. 
Suppose,  I  say,  we  had,  by  the  sheer  force  of  intellect,  or  by 
other  means  of  observation  or  information,  discovered  these 
great  truths,  we  should  have  announced  them  in  so  many  words. 
And  there  it  is  that  the  difference  lies  between  a  great  writer 
and  a  poor  one  ;  and  we  ma\^  see  how  an  inferior  man  may  fling 
a  chance  away.  How  does  my  friend  of  the  Times  put  these 
propositions?  "It  has  been  customary,"  says  he,  ''of  late 
years  for  the  purveyors  of  amusing  literature  to  put  forth 
certain  opuscules,  denominated  Christmas  books,  with  the  osten- 
sible intention  of  swelling  the  tide  of  exhilaration,  or  other 
expansive  emotions,  incident  upon  the  exodus  of  the  old  or  the 
inauguration  of  the  new  year."  That  is  something  like  a  sen- 
tence ;  not  a  word  scarcely  but's  in  Latin,  and  the  longest  and 
handsomest  out  of  the  whole  dictionary.  That  is  proper  econ- 
omy —  as  3^ou  see  a  buck  from  Holywell  Street  put  every  pinch- 
beck pin,  ring,  and  chain  which  he  possesses  about  his  shirt, 
hands,  and  waistcoat,  and  then  go  and  cut  a  dash  in  the  Park, 
or  swagger  with  his  order  to  the  theatre.  It  costs  him  no  more 
to  wear  all  his  ornaments  about  his  distinguished  person  than 
to  leave  them  at  home.  If  3"ou  can  be  a  swell  at  a  cheap  rate, 
why  not?  And  I  protest,  for  my  part,  I  had  no  idea  what  I 
was  really  about  in  writing  and  submitting  my  little  book  for 
sale,  until  my  friend  the  critic,  looking  at  the  article,  and  exam- 
ining it  with  the  eyes  of  a  connoisseur,  pronounced  that  what  I 


94 


PREFACE 


had  fancied  simply  to  be  a  book  was  in  fact  ''an  opuscule  denomi- 
nated so-and-so,  and  ostensibly  intended  to  swell  the  tide  of 
expansive  emotion  incident  upon  the  inauguration  of  the  new 
year."  I  can  hardly  believe  as  much  even  now  —  so  little  do 
we  know  what  we  really  are  after,  until  men  of  genius  come  and 
interpret. 

And  besides  the  ostensible  intention,  the  reader  will  perceive 
that  my  judge  has  discovered  another  latent  motive,  which  I 
had  ''locked  up  in  my  own  breast."  The  sly  rogue !  (if  we 
may  so  speak  of  the  court.)  There  is  no  keeping  am^thing 
from  him  ;  and  tliis  truth,  like  the  rest,  has  come  out,  and  is  all 
over  England  by  this  time.  Oh,  that  all  England,  which  has 
bought  the  judge's  charge,  would  purchase  the  prisoner's  plea 
in  mitigation!  "Oh,  that  any  muse  should  be  set  on  a  high 
stool,"  says  the  bench,  "to  cast  up  accounts  and  balance  a 
ledger  !  Yet  so  it  is  ;  and  the  popular  author  finds  it  convenient 
to  fill  up  the  declared  deficit  by  the  emission  of  Christmas  books 
—  a  kind  of  assignats  that  bear  the  stamp  of  their  origin  in 
the  vacuity  of  the  writer's  exchequer."  There  is  a  trope  for 
you !  You  rascal,  you  wrote  because  you  wanted  money ! 
His  lordship  has  found  out  what  you  were  at,  and  that  there  is 
a  deficit  in  your  till.  But  he  goes  on  to  say  that  we  poor  devils 
are  to  be  pitied  in  our  necessity ;  and  that  these  compositions 
are  no  more  to  be  taken  as  examples  of  our  merits  than  the 
verses  which  the  dustman  leaves  at  his  lordship's  door,  "  as  a 
provocative  of  the  expected  annual  gratuity,"  are  to  be  con- 
sidered as  measuring  his,  the  scavenger's,  valuable  services  — 
nevertheless  the  author's  and  the  scavenger's  "effusions  ma}^ 
fairly  be  classed,  for  their  intrinsic  worth,  no  less  than  their 
ultimate  purport." 

Heaven  bless  his  lordship  on  the  bench  —  What  a  gentle- 
manlike badinage  he  has,  and  what  a  charming  and  plaj^ful 
wit  always  at  hand  !  What  a  sense  he  has  for  a  simile,  or  what 
Mrs.  Mala[)rop  calls  an  odorous  comparison,  and  how  grace- 
fully he  conducts  it  to  "its  ultimate  purport."    A  gentleman 


TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


95 


writing  a  poor  little  book  is  a  scavenger  asking  for  a  Christmas- 
box  ! 

As  I  try  this  small  beer  which  has  called  down  such  a  deal 
of  thunder,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  it  is  not  Jove  who  has 
interfered  (the  case  was  scarce  worthy  of  his  divine  vindictive- 
ness)  ;  but  the  Thunderer's  man,  Jupiter  Jeames,  taking  his 
master's  place,  adopting  his  manner,  and  trying  to  dazzle  and 
roar  like  his  awful  employer.  That  figure  of  the  dustman  has 
hardly  been  flung  from  heaven  :  that  "  ultimate  purport  "  is  a 
subject  which  the  Immortal  would  hardly  handle.  Well,  well ; 
let  us  allow  that  the  book  is  not  worthy  of  such  a  polite  critic 
—  that  the  beer  is  not  strong  enough  for  a  gentleman  who  has 
taste  and  experience  in  beer. 

That  opinion  no  man  can  ask  his  honor  to  alter ;  but  (the 
beer  being  the  question),  why  make  unpleasant  allusions  to  the 
Gazette^  and  hint  at  the  probable  bankruptcy  of  the  brewer? 
Why  twit  me  with  my  poverty ;  and  what  can  the  Times'  critic 
fenow  about  the  vacuity  of  my  exchequer?  Did  he  ever  lend 
me  any  money  ?  Does  he  not  himself  write  for  money  ?  (and 
who  would  grudge  it  to  such  a  polite  and  generous  and  learned 
author?)  If  he  finds  no  disgrace  in  being  paid,  wh}^  should  I? 
If  he  has  ever  been  poor,  wh}'^  should  he  joke  at  my  empty 
exchequer?  Of  course  such  a  genius  is  paid  for  his  work  :  with 
such  neat  logic,  such  a  pure  style,  such  a  charming  poetical 
turn  of  phrase,  of  course  a  critic  gets  mone3^  Wh}',  a  man 
who  can  say  of  a  Christmas  book  that  '  ^  it  is  an  opuscule  de- 
nominated so-and-so,  and  ostensibly  intended  to  swell  the  tide 
of  expansive  emotion  incident  upon  the  exodus  of  the  old  year," 
must  evidently  have  had  immense  sums  and  care  expended  on 
his  early  education,  and  deserves  a  splendid  return.  You  can't 
go  into  the  market,  and  get  scholarship  like  that^  without  paying 
for  it :  even  the  flogging  that  such  a  writer  must  have  had  in 
early  youth  (if  he  was  at  a  public  school  where  the  rods  were 
paid  for),  must  have  cost  his  parents  a  good  sum.  Where 
would  you  find  any  but  an  accomplished  classical  scholar  to 


96 


PREFACE 


compare  the  books  of  the  present  (or  indeed  any  other)  writer 
to  ''sardonic  divings  after  the  pearl  of  truth,  whose  lustre  is 
eclipsed  in  the  display  of  the  diseased  03^ster ;  "  mere  Billings- 
gate doesn't  turn  out  oysters  hke  these  ;  they  are  of  the  Lucrine 
lake  :  —  this  satirist  has  pickled  his  rods  in  Latin  brine.  Fancy, 
not  merely  a  diver,  but  a  sardonic  diver :  and  the  expression 
of  his  confounded  countenance  on  discovering  not  only  a  pearl, 
but  an  eclipsed  pearl,  which  was  in  a  diseased  oj'Ster !  I  say 
it  is  onl}'  by  an  uncommon  and  happ}^  combination  of  taste, 
genius,  and  industry,  that  a  man  can  arrive  at  uttering  such 
sentiments  in  such  fine  language,  —  that  such  a  man  ought  to 
be  well  paid,  as  I  have  no  doubt  he  is,  and  that  he  is  worthily 
employed  to  write  literary  articles,  in  large  t3^pe,  in  the  leading 
journal  of  Europe.  Don't  we  want  men  of  eminence  and  polite 
learning  to  sit  on  the  hterary  bench,  and  to  direct  the  public 
opinion  ? 

But  when  this  profound  scholar  compares  me  to  a  scavenger 
who  leaves  a  copy  of  verses  at  his  door  and  begs  for  a  Christ- 
mas-box, I  must  again  cry  out  and  say,  "My  dear  sir,  it  is 
true  your  simile  is  offensive,  but  can  you  make  it  out  ?  Are  you 
not  hasty  in  your  figures  and  illusions  ?  "  If  I  might  give  a  hint 
to  so  consummate  a  rhetorician,  3^ou  should  be  more  careful  in 
making  your  figures  figures,  and  your  similes  like  :  for  instance, 
when  you  talk  of  a  book  "  swelling  the  tide  of  exhilaration  inci- 
dent to  the  inauguration  of  the  new  year,"  or  of  a  book  "  bear- 
ing the  stamp  of  its  origin  in  vacuit}',"  &c., — or  of  a  man 
diving  sardonically ;  or  of  a  pearl  eclipsed  in  the  display  of  a 
diseased  oyster  —  there  are  some  people  who  will  not  apprehend 
your  meaning :  some  will  doubt  whether  you  had  a  meaning  : 
some  even  will  question  your  great  powers,  and  say,  Is  this 
man  to  be  a  critic  in  a  newspaper,  which  knows  what  English, 
and  Latin  too,  and  what  sense  and  scholarship,  are?"  I  don't 
quarrel  with  you  —  T  take  for  granted  your  wit  and  learning, 
your  modesty  and  benevolence  —  but  why  scavenger  —  Jupiter 
Jeames  —  why  scavenger?  A  gentleman,  whose  biography  the 
Examiner  was  fond  of  (juoting  Ix^fore  it  took  its  present  serious 


TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


97 


and  orthodox  turn,  was  pursued  by  an  outragea  wife  to  the 
very  last  stage  of  his  existence  with  an  appeal  almost  as  pa- 
thetic—  Ah,  sir,  wh}'  scavenger? 

How  can  I  be  like  a  dustman  that  rings  for  a  Christmas- 
box  at  your  hall-door?  I  never  was  there  in  my  life.  I  never 
left  at  your  door  a  copy  of  verses  provocative  of  an  annual 
gratuity,  as  your  noble  honor  styles  it.  Who  are  you?  If  vou 
are  the  man  I  take  you  to  be,  it  must  have  been  you  who  asked 
the  publisher  for  my  book,  and  not  I  who  sent  it  in,  and  begged 
a  gratuit}^  of  your  worship^  You  abused  me  out  of  the  Times' 
window  ;  but  if  ever  your  noble  honor  sent  me  a  gratuity  out. of 
your  own  door,  may  I  never  drive  another  dust-cart.  Pro- 
vocative of  a  gratuity  ! O  splendid  swell !  How  much  was  it 
3'our  worship  sent  out  to  me  by  the  footman?  Every  farthing 
you  have  paid  I  will  restore  to  your  lordship,  and  I  swear  I 
shall  not  be  a  halfpenny  the  poorer. 

As  before,  and  on  similar  seasons  and  occasions,  I  have 
compared  myself  to  a  person  following  a  not  dissimilar  call- 
ing :  let  me  suppose  now,  for  a  minute,  that  I  am  a  writer  of  a 
Christmas  farce,  who  sits  in  the  pit,  and  sees  the  performance 
of  his  own  piece.  There  comes  applause,  hissing,  yawning, 
laughter,  as  may  be  :  but  the  loudest  critic  of  all  is  our  friend 
the  cheap  buck,  who  sits  yonder  and  makes  his  remarks,  so 
that  all  the  audience  may  hear.  '^Th/'s  a  farce!"  says  Beau 
Tibbs  :  demmy  !  it's  the  work  of  a  poor  devil  who  writes  for 
money,  —  confound  his  vulgarit}^ !  This  a  farce  !  Why  isn't  it 
a  traged}^  or  a  comedy,  or  an  epic  poem,  stap  my  vitals?  This 
a  farce  indeed !  It's  a  feller  as  sends  round  his  'at,  and  appeals 
to  charity.  Let's  'ave  our  money  back  again,  I  say."  And  he 
swaggers  off ;  —  and  you  find  the  fellow  came  with  an  author's 
order. 

But  if,  in  spite  of  Tibbs,  our  "  kjind  friends,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 
—  if  the  little  farce,  which  was  meant  to  amuse  Christmas  (or 
what  my  classical  friend  calls  Exodus),  is  asked  for,  even  up  to 
Twelfth  Night,  —  shall  the  publisher  stop  because  Tibbs  is  dis- 
satisfied?   Whenever  that  capitalist  calls  to  get  his  monej' 


98 


PREFACE. 


back,  he  may  see  the  letter  from  the  respected  publisher,  in- 
forming  the  author  that  all  the  copies  are  sold,  and  that  there 
are  demands  for  a  new  edition.  Up  with  the  curtain,  then ! 
Vivat  Regina !  and  no  money  returned,  except  the  I'imes 
"gratuity!" 

M.  A.  TITMARSH. 

January  5,  1851. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


The  cabman,  when  he  brought  us  to  the  wharf,  and  made 
his  usual  charge  of  six  times  his  legal  fare,  before  the  settle- 
ment of  which  he  pretended  to  refuse  the  privilege  of  an  exeat 
regno  to  our  luggage,  glared  like  a  disappointed  fiend  when 
Lankin,  calling  up  the  faithful  Hutchison,  his  clerk,  who  was 
in  attendance,  said  to  him,  Hutchison,  you  will  pa}^  this  man. 
My  name  is  Serjeant  Lankin,  my  chambers  are  in  Pump  Court. 
My  clerk  will  settle  with  3'ou,  sir."  The  cabman  trembled  ;  we 
stepped  on  board  ;  our  lightsome  luggage  was  speedily  whisked 
away  by  the  crew  ;  our  berths  had  been  secured  by  the  previous 
agenc}^  of  Hutchison  ;  and  a  couple  of  tickets,  on  which  were 
written,  ''Mr.  Serjeant  Lankin,"  ''Mr.  Titmarsh,"  (Lankin's, 
by  the  way,  incomparably  the  best  and  comfortablest  sleeping 
place,)  were  pinned  on  to  two  of  the  curtains  of  the  beds  in  a 
side  cabin  when  we  descended. 

Who  was  on  board?  There  were  Jews,  with  Sunday  papers 
and  fruit ;  there  were  couriers  and  servants  straggling  about ; 
there  were  those  bearded  foreign  visitors  of  England,  who 
alwa^'s  seem  to  decline  to  shave  or  wash  themselves  on  the  day 
of  a  voyage,  and,  on  the  eve  of  quitting  our  country,  appear 
inclined  to  carry  away  as  much  as  possible  of  its  soil  on  their 
hands  and  linen  :  there  were  parties  alreadv  cozily  established 
on  deck  under  the  awning  ;  and  stead v-going  travellers  for'ard, 
smoking  already  the  pleasant  morning  cigar,  and  watching  the 
phenomena  of  departure. 

The  bell  rings:  they  leave  off  bawling,  "Anybody  else  for 
the  shore  ? "  The  last  grape  and  BelVs  Life  merchant  has 
scuffled  over  the  plank  :  the  Johns  of  the  departing  nobiUty  and 
gentry  line  the  brink  of  the  quay,  a«d  touch  their  hats  :  Hutchi- 


100 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


son  tonelies  his  hat  to  me  —  to  me^  heaven  bless  him  !  I  turn 
round  inexpressibly  affected  and  delighted,  and  whom  do  I  see 
but  Captain  Hicks  ! 

Hallo!  you  here?"  sa3^s  Hicks,  in  a  tone  which  seems  to 
mean,     Confound  3'ou,  you  are  ever}^ where." 

Plicks  is  one  of  those  young  men  who  seem  to  be  everj^- 
w^here  a  great  deal  too  often. 

How^  are  the}'  ahvays  getting  leave  from  their  regiments  ?  If 
the}'  are  not  wanted  in  this  country,  (as  wanted  the}'  cannot  be, 
for  you  see  them  sprawling  over  the  railing  in  Rotten  Row  all 
day,  and  shaking  their  heels  at  every  ball  in  town,)  —  if  they 
are  not  wanted  in  this  country,  I  say,  why  the  deuce  are  they 
not  sent  off  to  India,  or  to  Demerara,  or  to  Sierra  Leone,  by 
Jove  ?  —  the  farther  the  better  ;  and  I  should  wish  a  good  un- 
wholesome climate  to  try  'em,  and  make  'em  hardy.  Here  is 
this  Hicks,  then  —  Captain  Launcelot  Hicks,  if  you  please  — 
whose  life  is  nothing  but  breakfast,  smoking,  riding-school, 
billiards,  mess,  polking,  billiards,  and  smoking  again,  and  da 
capo  —  pulling  down  his  moustaches,  and  going  to  take  a  tour 
after  the  immense  labors  of  the  season. 

How  do  you  do,  Captain  Hicks?"  I  say.  Where  are 
you  going?  " 

Oh,  I  am  going  to  the  Whine,"  says  Hicks  ;  "  evewybody 
goes  to  the  Whine."  The  Whine  indeed!  I  dare  say  he  can  no 
more  spell  properly  than  he  can  speak. 

Who  is  on  board  —  anybody?"  I  ask,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  of  fashion.  To  whom  does  that  immense  pile  of  luggage 
belong  —  under  charge  of  the  lady's-maid,  the  courier,  and  the 
British  footman?  A  large  white  K  is  painted  on  all  the  boxes." 

How  the  deuce  should  /  know?"  says  Hicks,  looking,  as 
I  fancy,  both  red  and  angry,  and  strutting  off  with  his  great 
cavalry  lurch  and  swagger  :  whilst  my  friend  the  Serjeant  looks 
at  him  lost  in  admiration,  and  surveys  his  shining  little  boots, 
his  chains  and  brelo(|ues,  his  whiskers  and  ambrosial  mous- 
taches, his  gloves  and  other  dandilications,  with  a  pleased 
wonder ;  as  the  ladies  of  the  Sultan's  harem  surveyed  the  great 
Lady  from  Park  Lane  who  paid  them  a  visit ;  or  the  simj^le 
subjects  of  Montezuma  looked  at  one  of  Cortes's  heavy  dra- 
goons. 

That  must  ])e  a  marquis  at  least,"  whispers  Lankin,  who 
consults  me  on  points  of  society,  and  is  pleased  to  have  a  great 
opinion  of  my  exi)erience. 

I  burst  out  in  a  scornful  laugh.  "  7%«^  /  "  I  say;  he  is 
a  captain  of  dragoons,  and  his  father  an  attorney  in  Bedford 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


101 


Row.  The  whiskers  of  a  roturier,  my  good  Lankin,  grow  as 
long  as  the  beard  of  a  Plantagenet.  It  don't  require  much 
noble  blood  to  learn  the  polka.  If  you  were  younger,  Lankin, 
we  might  go  for  a  shilling  a  night,  and  dance  every  evening  at 
M.  Laurent's  Casino,  and  skip  about  in  a  little  time  as  well  as 
that  fellow.  Only  we  despise  the  kind  of  thing  you  know,  — 
only  we're  too  grave,  and  too  steady." 

And  too  fat,"  whispers  Lankin,  with  a  laugh. 

Speak  for  yourself,  you  maypole,"  says  I.  ''If  you  can't 
dance  yourself,  people  can  dance  round  you  —  put  a  wreath  of 
flowers  upon  j^our  old  poll,  stick  you  up  in  a  village  green,  and 
so  make  use  of  you." 

''  I  should  gladly  be  turned  into  anything  so  pleasant," 
Lankin  answers;  "and  so,  at  least,  get  a  chance  of  seeing  a 
pretty  girl  now  and  then.  They  don't  show  in  Pump  Court, 
or  at  the  University  Club,  where  I  dine.  You  are  a  lucky 
fellow,  Titmarsh,  and  go  about  in  the  world.  As  for  me,  / 
never : —  " 

''  And  the  judges'  wives,  3^ou  rogue?"  I  saj'.  "  Well,  no 
man  is  satisfied ;  and  the  only  reason  I  have  to  be  angry  wdth 
the  captain  j^onder  is,  that,  the  other  night,  at  Mrs.  Perkins's, 
being  in  conversation  with  a  charming  j^oung  creature  —  who 
knows  all  my  favorite  passages  in  Tennyson,  and  takes  a  most 
delightful  little  line  of  opposition  in  the  Church  controversy  — 
just  as  we  w^ere  in  the  very  closest,  dearest,  pleasantest  part  of 
the  talk,  comes  up  3'oung  Hotspur  3'onder,  and  whisks  her  awa}' 
in  a  polka.  What  have  you  and  I  to  do  with  polkas,  Lankin? 
He  took  her  down  to  supper  —  what  have  3'ou  and  I  to  do  wdth 
suppers  ?  " 

"  Our  dut}'  is  to  leave  them  alone,"  said  the  philosophical 
Serjeant.  "  And  now  about  breakfast  —  shall  we  have  some  ?  " 
And  as  he  spoke,  a  savory  little  procession  of  stewards  and  stew- 
ards' boys,  with  drab  tin  dish-covers,  passed  from  the  caboose, 
and  descended  the  stairs  to  the  cabin.  The  vessel  had  passed 
Greenwich  by  this  time,  and  had  worked  its  way  out  of  the 
mast-forest  which  guards  the  approaches  of  our  city. 

The  ow^ners  of  those  innumerable  boxes,  bags,  oil-skins, 
guitar-cases,  whereon  the  letter  K  w^as  engraven,  appeared  to 
be  three  ladies,  with  a  slim  gentleman  of  two  or  three  and 
thirty,  who  w^as  probabl}^  the  husband  of  one  of  them.  He  had 
numl)erless  shawls  under  his  arm  and  guardianship.  He  had 
a  strap  full  of  Murray's  Handbooks  and  Continental  Guides  in 
his  keeping ;  and  a  little  collection  of  parasols  and  umbrellas, 


102 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


bound  together,  and  to  be  carried  in  state  before  the  chief  of 
the  party,  like  the  lictor's  fasces  before  the  consul. 

The  chief'  of  the  party  was  evidently  the  stout  lady.  One 
parasol  being  left  free,  she  waved  it  about,  and  commanded  the 
luggage  and  the  menials  to  and  fro.  ''Horace,  we  will  sit 
there,"  she  exclaimed,  pointing  to  a  comfortable  place  on  the 
deck.  Horace  went  and  placed  the  shawls  and  the  Guide- 
books. Hirsch,  avy  vou  conty  les  bagages?  tront  sett  morso 
ong  too?"  The  German  courier  said,  '' Oui,  miladi,"  and 
bowed  a  rather  sulky  assent.  ''  Bowman,  you  will  see  that 
Finch  is  comfortable,  and  send  her  to  me."  The  gigantic  Bow- 
man, a  gentleman  in  an  undress  uniform,  with  very  large  and 
splendid  armorial  buttons,  and  with  traces  of  the  powder  of  the 
season  still  lingering  in  his  hair,  bows,  and  speeds  upon  my 
lady's  errand. 

I  recognize  Hirsch,  a  well-known  face  upon  the  European 
high-road,  where  he  has  travelled  with  many  acquaintances. 
With  whom  is  he  making  the  tour  now  ?  —  Mr.  Hirsch  is  acting 
as  courier  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Horace  Milliken.  They  have  not 
been  married  many  months,  and  they  are  travelling,  Hirsch 
says,  with  a  contraction  of  his  bushy  eyebrows,  with  miladi, 
Mrs.  Milliken's  mamma.  "And  who  is  her  ladyship?" 
Hirsch's  brow  contracts  into  deeper  furrows.  ''It  is  Miladi 
Gigglebury,"  he  says,  "Mr.  Didmarsh.  Berhabs  3^ou  know 
her."  He  scowls  round  at  her,  as  she  calls  out  loudh^,  "  Hirsch, 
Hirsch  !  "  and  obe^^s  that  summons. 

It  is  the  great  Lady  Kicklebury  of  Pocklington  Square, 
about  whom  I  remember  Mrs.  Perkins  made  so  much  ado  at 
l^er  last  ball ;  and  whom  old  Perkins  conducted  to  supper. 
When  Sir  Thomas  Kicklebury  died  (he  was  one  of  the  first 
tenants  of  the  Square),  who  does  not  remember  the  scutcheon 
with  the  coronet  with  two  balls,  that  flamed  over  No.  36?  Her 
son  was  at  Eton  then,  and  has  subsequenth^  taken  an  honorary 
degree  at  Oxfonl,  and  been  an  ornament  of  Piatt's"  and  the 
"  Osw(^stiT  ('hi))."  He  fled  into  St.  James's  from  the  great 
house  in  Pockhngton  Sfjuare,  and  from  St.  James's  to  Italy  and 
the  M(;diterraneaii,  where  he  has  been  for  some  time  in  a  whole- 
some exile.  Her  (eldest  daughter's  marring(i  with  Lord  Rough- 
head  was  talk(;d  about  last  year  ;  but  Lord  Roughhead,  it  is 
known,  marricid  Miss  I>r(int ;  and  Horacjc  Milliken,  very  much 
to  his  sui*pi'is(;,  found  himself  the  allianciid  husband  of  Miss 
Lavinia  Kicklebury,  after  an  agitating  evening  at  Lady  Polki- 
more's,  when  Miss  Lavinia,  feeling  herself  faint,  went  out  on 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


103 


to  the  leads  (the  terrace,  Lad}^  Polkimore  will  call  it),  on  the 
arm  of  Mr.  Milliken.  Thej^  were  married  in  January  :  it's  not 
a  bad  match  for  Miss  K.  Lady  Kicklebury  goes  and  stops  for 
six  months  of  the  year  at  Pigeoncot  with  her  daughter  and  son- 
in-law  ;  and  now  that  they  are  come  abroad,  she  comes  too. 
She  must  be  with  Lavinia,  under  the  present  circumstances. 

When  I  am  arm-in-arm,  I  tell  this  story  ghblj'  off  to  Lankin, 
who  is  astonished  at  my  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  says, 
Why,  Titmarsh,  you  know  everything." 

1  do  know  a  few  things,  Lankin  my  boy,"  is  my  answer. 
"A  man  don't  live  in  society,  and  pretty  good  society,  let  me 
tell  you,  for  nothing." 

The  fact  is,  that  all  the  above  details  are  known  to  almost 
an}'  man  in  our  neighborhood.  Lad}^  Kicklebury  does  not  meet 
with  Its  much,  and  has  greater  folks  than  we  can  pretend  to  be 
at  her  parties.  But  we  know  about  them.  She'll  condescend 
to  come  to  Perkins's,  with  whose  firm  she  hanks  ;  and  she  may 
overdraw  her  account:  but  of  that,  of  course,  I  know  noth- 
ing. 

When  Lankin  and  I  go  down  stairs  to  breakfast,  we  find, 
if  not  the  best,  at  least  the  most  conspicuous  places  in  occupa- 
tion of  Lady  Kicklebury's  party,  and  the  hulking  London  foot- 
man making  a  darkness  in  the  cabin,  as  he  stoops  through  it 
bearing  cups  and  plates  to  his  emploj^ers. 

[Why  do  they  alwa3's  put  mud  into  coffee  on  board  steamers  ? 
Why  does  the  tea  generally  taste  of  boiled  boots  ?  Wl\v  is  the 
milk  scarce  and  thin?  And  wliy  do  thej'  have  those  bleeding 
legs  of  boiled  mutton  for  dinner?  I  ask  wii}'?  In  the  steamers 
of  other  nations  you  are  well  fed.  Is  it  impossible  that  Britannia, 
who  confessedly  rules  the  waves,  should  attend  to  the  victuals 
a  little,  and  that  meat  should  be  well  cooked  under  a  Union 
Jack?  I  just  put  in  this  question,  this  most  interesting  ques- 
tion, in  a  momentous  parenthesis,  and  resume  the  tale.] 

When  Lankin  and  I  descend  to  the  cabin,  then,  the  tables 
are  full  of  gobbling  people  ;  and,  though  there  do  seem  to  be  a 
couple  of  places  near  Lady  Kicklebury,  immediately  she  sees 
our  eyes  directed  to  the  inviting  gap,  she  slides  out,  and  with 
her  ample  robe  covers  even  more  tlian  that  large  space  to  which 
by  art  and  nature  she  is  entitled,  and  calling  out,  Horace, 
Horace  !  "  and  nodding,  and  winking,  and  pointing,  she  causes 
her  son-in-law  to  extend  the  wing  on  his  side.  We  are  cut  of 
that  chance  of  a  breakfast.    We  shall  have  the  tea  at  its  third 


104 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


water,  and  those  two  damp  black  mutton-chops,  which  nobody 
else  will  take,  will  fall  to  our  cold  share. 

At  this  minute  a  voice,  clear  and  sweet,  from  a  tall  lad}'  in 
a  black  veil,  sa3's,  Mr.  Titmarsh,"  and  I  start  and  murmur  an 
ejaculation  of  respectful  surprise,  as  I  recognize  no  less  a  per- 
son than  the  Eight  Honorable  the  Countess  of  Knightsbridge, 
taking  her  tea,  breaking  up  little  bits  of  toast  with  her  slim 
fingers,  and  sitting  between  a  Belgian  horse-dealer  and  a  Ger- 
man violoncello-player  who  has  a  conge  after  the  opera  —  like 
any  other  mortal. 

I  whisper  her  ladyship's  name  to  Lankin.  The  Serjeant 
looks  towards  her  with  curiosity  and  awe.  Even  he,  in  his 
Pump  Court  solitudes,  has  heard  of  that  star  of  fashion  —  that 
admired  amongst  men,  and  even  women  —  that  Diana  severe 
3'et  simple,  the  accomplished  Aurelia  of  Knightsbridge.  Her 
husband  has  but  a  small  share  of  her  qualities.  How  should 
he  ?  The  turf  and  the  fox-chase  are  his  delights  —  the  smoking- 
room  at  the  Travellers'  "  —  na}',  shaU  we  say  it?  —  the  illu- 
minated arcades  of  VauxhaU,"  and  the  gambols  of  the 
dishevelled  Terpsichore  Knightsbridge  has  his  faults  —  ah  ! 
even  the  peerage  of  England  is  not  exempt  from  them.  With 
Diana  for  his  wife,  he  flies  the  halls  where  she  sits  severe  and 
serene,  and  is  to  be  found  (shrouded  in  smoke,  'tis  true,)  in 
those  caves  where  the  contrite  cliimney-sweep  sings  his  terrible 
death  chant,  or  the  Bacchanalian  judge  administers  a  satiric 
law.  Lord  Knightsbridge  has  his  faults,  then  ;  but  he  has  the 
gout  at  Rougetnoirboui'g,  near  the  Rhine,  and  thither  his  wife 
is  hastening  to  minister  to  him. 

I  have  done,"  says  Lady  Knightsbridge,  with  a  gentle  bow, 
as  she  rises  ;  you  may  have  this  place,  Mr.  Titmarsh  ;  and  I 
am  sorry  my  breakfast  is  over :  I  should  have  prolonged  it  had 
1  thouglit  that  you  were  coming  to  sit  by  me.  Thank  3'ou  — 
my  glove."  (Such  an  absurd  little  glove,  by  the  way).  We 
shall  meet  on  the  deck  when  you  have  done." 

And  she  moves  awa}'  with  an  august  curtsy.  1  can't  tell 
how  it  is,  or  what  it  is,  in  that  lady;  but  she  says,  How  do 
you  do?"  as  nobody  else  knows  how  to  say  it.  In  all  her 
actions,  motions,  thoughts,  I  would  wager  there  is  the  same 
calm  grace  and  harmony.  She  is  not  very  handsome,  being 
ver}^  thin,  and  rather  sad-looking.  She  is  not  very  witty,  being 
only  up  to  the  convei  sation,  whatever  it  may  be  ;  and  yet,  if 
she  were  in  black  serge,  I  think  o\\i\  could  not  help  seeing  that 
she  was  a  Princess,  and  Serene  Highness;  jind  if  she  were  a 
hundr(;d  years  old,  slie  could  not  be  but  bcnnliCnl.     I  saw  her 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


105 


performing  her  devotions  in  Antwerp  Cathedral,  and  forgot  to 
look  at  anything  else  there  ;  — so  calm  and  pure,  such  a  sainted 
figure  hers  seemed. 

When  this  great  lad}^  did  the  present  writer  the  honor  to 
shake  his  hand  (1  had  the  honor  to  teach  writing  and  the  rudi- 
ments of  Latin  to  the  young  and  intelligent  Lord  Viscount 
Pimlico),  there  seemed  to  be  a  commotion  in  the  Kicklebury 
part}^  —  heads  were  nodded  together,  and  turned  towards  Lad}' 
Knightsbridge  ;  in  whose  honor,  when  Lad}^  Kicklebury  had 
sufficientl}'  reconnoitred  her  with  her  eye-glass,  the  baronet's 
lad}'  rose  and  swept  a  reverential  curts}',  backing  until  she 
fell  up  against  the  cushions  at  the  stern  of  the  boat.  Lad}' 
Knightsbridge  did  not  see  this  salute,  for  she  did  not  ac- 
knowledge it,  but  walked  away  slimly  (she  seems  to  glide 
in  and  out  of  the  room) ,  and  disappeared  up  the  stair  to  the 
deck. 

Lankin  and  1  took  our  places,  the  horse-dealer  making 
room  for  us  ;  and  I  could  not  help  looking,  with  a  little  air  of 
triumph,  over  to  the  Kicklebury  faction,  as  much  as  to  say, 
You  fine  folks,  with  your  large  footman  and  supercilious  airs, 
see  what  we  can  do." 

As  I  looked  — smiling,  and  nodding,  and  laughing  at  me,  in 
a  knowing,  pretty  way,  and  then  leaning  to  mamma  as  if  in  ex- 
planation, what  face  should  I  see  but  that  of  the  young  lady  at 
Mrs.  Perkins's,  with  whom  I  had  had  that  pleasant  conversation 
which  had  been  interrupted  by  the  demand  of  Captain  Hicks  for 
a  dance?  So,  then,  that  was  Miss  Kicklebury,  about  whom 
Miss  Perkins,  my  young  friend,  has  so  often  spoken  to  me  the 
young  ladies  were  in  conversation  when  I  had  the  happiness  of 
joining  them  ;  and  Miss  P.  went  away  presently,  to  look  to  her 
guests)  — that  is  Miss  Fanny  Kicklebury. 

A  sudden  pang  shot  athwart  my  bosom  —  Lankin  might 
have  perceived  it,  but  the  honest  Serjeant  was  so  awe-stricken 
by  his  late  interview  with  the  Countess  of  Knightsbridge,  that 
his  mind  was  unfit  to  grapple  with  other  subjects  —  a  pang  of 
feeling  (which  I  concealed  under  the  grin  and  graceful  bow 
wherewith  Miss  Fanny's  salutations  were  acknowledged)  tore 
my  heart-strings  —  as  I  thought  of — I  need  not  say  —  of 
Hicks. 

He  had  danced  with  her,  he  had  supped  with  her  —  he  was 
here,  on  board  the  boat.  Where  was  that  dragoon?  I  looked 
round  for  him.  In  quite  a  far  corner,  — but  so  that  he  could 
command  the  Kicklebury  party,  I  thought, — he  was  eating  his 


106 


THE  KTCKLEBURYS 


breakfast,  the  great  healthy  oaf,  and  consuming  one  broiled 
egg  after  another. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  all  parties,  as  it  may  be  sup- 
posed, emerged  upon  deck  again,  and  Miss  Fanny  and  her 
mamma  began  walking  the  quarter-deck  with  a  quick  pace,  like 
a  couple  of  post-captains.  When  Miss  Fanny  saw  me,  she 
stopped  and  smiled,  and  recognized  the  gentleman  who  had 
amused  her  so  at  Mrs.  Perkins's.  What  a  dear  sweet  creature 
Eliza  Perkins  was !  They  had  been  at  school  together.  She 
was  going  to  w^rite  to  Eliza  everything  that  hapj^ened  on  the 
voyage. 

Everything  V  I  said,  in  my  particularly  sarcastic  manner. 
Well,  everything  that  was  worth  telling.  There  was  a  great 
number  of  things  that  were  very  stupid,  and  of  people  that  were 
ver}^  stupid.  Everything  that  you  sa}^,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  am 
sure  I  may  put  down.  You  have  seen  Mr.  Titmarsh's  funny 
books,  mamma?'' 

Mamma  said  she  had  heard  —  she  had  no  doubt  they  were 
ver}'  amusing.  ' '  Was  not  that  —  ahem  —  Lady  Knightsbridge, 
to  whom  I  saw  you  speaking,  sir?" 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  going  to  nurse  Lord  Knightsbridge,  who  has 
the  gout  at  Rougetnoirbourg." 

'-^  Indeed  !  how  very  fortunate  !  what  an  extraordinary  coin- 
cidence !    We  are  going  too,"  said  Lady  Kicklebury. 

I  remarked  that  everybody  was  going  to  Rougetnoirbourg 
this  3'ear  ;  and  I  heard  of  two  gentlemen  —  Count  Carambole 
and  Colonel  Cannon  —  who  had  been  obhged  to  sleep  there  on 
a  billiard-table  for  want  of  a  bed." 

My  son  Kicklebury  —  are  you  acquainted  with  Sir  Thomas 
Kicklebury  ?  "  her  ladyship  said,  with  great  stateliness  —  ''is  at 
Noirbourg,  and  will  take  lodgings  for  us.  The  si)rings  are 
particularly  recommended  for  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Milliken  ;  and, 
at  great  personal  sacrifice,  I  am  going  thither  myself:  but  what 
will  not  a  mother  do,  Mr.  Titmarsh  ?  Did  I  understand  you  to 
say  that  you  have  the  —  the  entree  at  Knightsbridge  House? 
The  parties  are  not  what  they  used  to  be,  I  am  told.  Not  that 
7  have  any  knowU'dge.  1  am  but  a  poor  country  baronet's 
widow,  Mr.  Titmarsh ;  though  the  Kickleburys  date  from 
Henry  III.,  and  my  family  is  not  of  the  most  modern  in  the 
country.  You  have  heard  of  General  (iuff,  my  father,  perha[)S? 
aide-de-camp  to  tlie  I)uk(^  of  York,  aud  wounded  I)}'  his  Royal 
Highness's  side  at  the  bombardment  of  Valenciennes.  We 
move  in  our  own  sphere.^^ 

''  Mrs.  Perkins  is  a  very  kiud  creature,"  I  said,  "  and  it 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


107 


was  a  very  pleasant  ball.  Did  you  not  think  so,  Miss  Kickle- 
bury?" 

I  thought  it  odious,"  said  Miss  Fanny.  "  I  mean,  it  was 
pleasant  until  that  —  that  stupid  man  —  what  was  his  name? 
—  came  and  took  me  away  to  dance  with  him." 

''What!  don't  you  care  for  a  red  coat  and  moustaches?" 
I  asked. 

''  I  adore  genius,  Mr.  Titmarsh,"  said  the  young  lad}',  with 
a  most  killing  look  of  her  beautiful  bhie  eyes,  and  I  have 
every  one  of  yom  works  by  heart  —  all,  except  the  last,  which 
I  can't  endure.  I  think  it's  wicked,  positively  wicked  —  My 
darhng  Scott — how  can  you?  And  are  you  going  to  make  a 
Christmas-book  this  year  ?  " 

Shall  I  tell  you  about  it?" 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us  about  it,"  said  the  lively,  charming  creature, 
clapping  her  hands  :  and  we  began  to  talk,  being  near  Lavinia 
(Mrs.  Milliken)  and  her  husband,  who  was  ceaselessly  occupied 
in  fetching  and  carr3ing  books,  biscuits,  pillows  and  cloaks, 
scent-bottles,  the  Italian  greyhound,  and  the  thousand  and  one 
necessities  of  the  pale  and  interesting  bride.  Oh,  how  she  did 
fidget !  how  she  did  grumble  !  how  she  altered  and  twisted  her 
position  !  and  how  she  did  make  poor  Milliken  trot ! 

After  Miss  Fanny  and  I  had  talked,  and  I  had  told  her  my 
plan,  which  she  pronounced  to  be  delightful,  she  continued  :  — 
''  I  never  was  so  provoked  in  my  life,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  as  when 
that  odious  man  came  and  interrupted  that  dear  delightful 
conversation." 

"  On  3'our  word ?  The  odious  man  is  on  board  the  boat: 
I  see  him  smoking  just  by  the  funnel  yonder,  look  !  and  looking 
at  us." 

"  He  is  very  stupid,"  said  Fanny  ;  "  and  all  that  I  adore  is 
intellect,  dear  Mr.  Titmarsh." 

"But  why  is  he  on  board?"  said  I,  with  Vi  fin  soiirire. 

"Why  is  he  on  board?  Why  is  everybody  on  board? 
How  do  we  meet?  (and  oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  meet  you 
again  !)  You  don't  suppose  that  /  know  how  the  horrid  man 
came  here  ? " 

"  Eh!  he  may  be  fascinated  by  a  pair  of  blue  eyes.  Miss 
Fanny !    Others  have  been  so,"  I  said. 

"Don't  be  cruel  to  a  poor  girl,  you  wicked,  satirical 
creature,"  she  said.  "I  think  Captain  Hicks  odious  —  there  ! 
and  I  was  quite  angry  when  I  saw  him  on  the  boat.  Mamma 
does  not  know  him,  and  she  was  so  angry  with  me  for  dancing 
with  him  that  night:  though  there  was  nobody  of  any  par- 


108 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


ticular  mark  at  poor  dear  Mrs.  Perkins's — that  is,  except 
you^  Mr.  Titmarsh." 

"  And  I  am  not  a  dancing  man,"  I  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  hate  dancing  men  ;  they  can  do  nothing  but  dance." 
O  yes,  the}^  can.    Some  of  them  can  smoke,  and  some  can 
ride,  and  some  of  them  can  even  spell  very  well." 

You  wicked,  satirical  person.    I'm  quite  afraid  of  3'ou  !  " 
And  some  of  them  call  the  Rhine  the  '  Whine,'  "  I  said, 
giving  an  admirable  imitation  of  poor  Hicks's  drawling  manner. 

Fanny  looked  hard  at  me,  with  a  peculiar  expression  on  her 
face.  At  last  she  laughed.  ''Oh,  you  wicked,  wicked  man," 
she  said,  ''  what  a  capital  mimic  you  are,  and  so  full  of  clever- 
ness !  Do  brhig  up  Captain  Hicks — isn't  that  his  name?  — 
and  trot  him  out  for  us.  Bring  him  up,  and  introduce  him  to 
mamma  :  do  now,  go  !  " 

Mamma,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  waited  her  time,  and  was 
just  going  to  step  down  the  cabin  stairs  as  Lady  Knightsbridge 
ascended  from  them.  To  draw  back,  to  make  a  most  profound 
curtsy,  to  exclaim,  ''Lady  Knightsbridge!  I  have  had  the 
honor  of  seeing  your  ladyship  at  —  hum  —  hum  —  hum  "  (this 
word  I  could  not  catch)  —  "House," — all  these  feats  were 
performed  by  Lady  Kicklebury  in  one  instant,  and  acknowl- 
edged with  the  usual  calmness  b}^  the  3'ounger  lad3\ 

"  And  may  I  hope,"  continues  Lady  Kicklebury,  "  that 
that  most  beautiful  of  all  children  —  a  motlier  may  say  so  — 
that  Lord  Pimlico  has  recovered  his  hooping-cough?  We  were 
so  anxious  about  him.  Our  medical  attendant  is  Mr.  Topham, 
and  he  used  to  come  from  Knightsbridge  House  to  Pocklington 
Square,  often  and  often.  I  am  interested  about  the  hooping- 
cough.  My  own  dear  bo}'  had  it  most  severely  ;  that  dear  girl, 
my  eldest  daughter,  whom  you  see  stretched  on  the  bench  — 
she  is  in  a  very  delicate  state,  and  only  lately  married  —  not 
sucli  a  match  as  I  could  have  wished  :  but  Mr.  Milliken  is  of  a 
good  family,  distantly  related  to  your  ladyshi[)'s.  A  Milliken, 
in  Geoige  tin;  Third's  reign,  married  a  Boltiuiore,  and  the  l)ol~ 
timores,  I  think,  are  your  (irst-cousins.  Tliey  married  tliis  year, 
and  J^aviuia  is  so  fond  of  me,  that  she  can't  part  with  me,  and 
I  have  come  abroad  just  to  })lease  her.  We  are  going  to  Noir- 
bourg.  I  think  I  iieard  iVom  my  son  that  Lord  Knightsbridge 
was  at  Noirbourg." 

"  I  believe  I  hav(^  liad  th(»  pleasure  of  seeing  Sir  Thomas 
Kicklebui'v  at  Knight  si  )ri(lg(i  House,"  Lad}'  Knightsbridge  said, 
with  sornethiiig  of  sjuliiess. 

"  Lideed  !  "  and  Kicklebury  had  never  told  her  !    He  laughed 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


109 


at  her  when  she  talked  about  great  people  :  he  told  her  all  sorts 
of  ridiculous  stories  when  upon,  this  theme.  But,  at  any  rate, 
the  acquaintance  was  made  :  Lady  Kicklebury  woukl  not  leave 
Lady  Knightsbridge  ;  and,  even  in  the  throes  of  sea-sickness, 
and  the  secret  recesses  of  the  cabin,  would  talk  to  her  about 
tlie  world,  Lord  Pimlico,  and  her  father,  General  Guff,  late 
aide-de-camp  to  the  Duke  of  York. 

That  those  throes  of  sickness  ensued,  I  need  not  say.  A 
short  time  after  passing  Ramsgate,  Serjeant  Lankin,  who  had 
been  exceedingly  gay  and  satirical  —  (in  his  calm  way;  he 
quotes  Horace,  m}^  favorite  bits  as  an  author,  to  myself,  and 
has  a  quiet  snigger,  and,  so  to  speak,  amontillado  flavor,  ex- 
ceedingly pleasant) — Lankin,  with  a  rueful  and  livid  coun- 
tenance, descended  into  his  berth,  in  the  which  that  six  foot  of 
Serjeant  packed  himself  I  don't  know  how. 

When  Lady  Knightsbridge  went  down,  down  went  Kickle- 
hmy.  Millike n  and  his  wife  sta3'ed,  and  were  ill  together  on 
deck.  A  palm  of  glory  ought  to  be  awarded  to  that  man  for 
his  angelic  patience,  energy,  and  suffering.  It  w^as  he  who 
went  for  Mrs.  Milliken's  maid,  who  w^ouldn't  come  to  her 
mistress ;  it  was  he,  the  shyest  of  men,  who  stormed  the 
ladies'  cabin  —  that  maritime  harem  —  in  order  to  get  her 
mother's  bottle  of  salts  ;  it  was  he  who  w^ent  for  the  brandy- 
and- water,  and  begged,  and  prayed,  and  besought  his  adored 
Lavinia  to  taste  a  leetle  drop.  Lavinia's  reply  w^as,  Don't 
—  go  away  —  don't  tease,  Horace,"  and  so  forth.  And,  when 
not  wanted,  the  gentle  creature  subsided  on  the  bench,  by  his 
wife's  feet,  and  w^as  sick  in  silence. 

\_Mem  —  In  married  life,  it  seems  to  me,  that  it  is  almost 
alwa^'s  Milliken  and  wife,  or  just  the  contrary.  The  angels 
minister  to  the  tyrants ;  or  the  gentle,  hen-pecked  husband 
cowers  before  the  superior  partlet.  If  ever  I  marry,  I  know 
the  sort  of  woman  /  will  choose ;  and  I  won't  try  her  temper 
b}'  over-indulgence,  and  destro}'  her  fine  qualities  by  a  ruinous 
subserviency  to  her  washes.] 

Little  Miss  Fanny  stayed  on  deck,  as  well  as  her  sister,  and 
looked  at  the  stars  of  heaven,  as  they  began  to  shine  there,  and 
at  the  Foreland  lights  as  w^e  passed  them.  I  would  have  talked 
wdth  her  ;  I  would  have  suggested  images  of  poesy,  and  thoughts 
of  beauty  ;  I  would  have  whispered  the  word  of  sentiment  — 
the  delicate  allusion  —  the  breathing  of  the  soul  that  longs  to 
find  a  congenial  heart  —  the  sorrows  and  aspirations  of  the 
wounded  spirit,  stricken  and  sad,  yet  not  q}(ite  despairing  :  still 
knowing  that  the  hope-plant  lurked  in  its  crushed  ruins  —  still 


110 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


able  to  gaze  on  the  stars  and  the  ocean,  and  love  their  blazing 
sheen,  their  boundless  azure.  I  would,  I  say,  have  taken  the 
opportunity  of  that  stilly  night  to  lay  bare  to  her  the  treasures 
of  a  heart  that,  I  am  happy  to  say,  is  young  still ;  but  circum- 
stances forbade  the  frank  outpouring  of  my  poet  soul :  in  a 
word,  I  was  obliged  to  go  and  lie  down  on  the  flat  of  my  back, 
and  endeavor  to  control  other  emotions  which  struggled  in  my 
breast. 

Once,  in  the  night-watches,  I  arose,  and  came  on  deck ; 
the  vessel  was  not,  methought,  pitching  much;  and  yet — and 
yet  Neptune  was  inexorable.  The  placid  stars  looked  down, 
but  they  gave  me  no  peace.  Lavinia  Milhken  seemed  asleep, 
and  her  Horace,  in  a  death-like  torpor,  was  huddled  at  her 
feet.  Miss  Fanny  had  quitted  the  larboard  side  of  the  ship, 
and  had  gone  to  starboard  ;  and  I  thought  that  there  was  a 
gentleman  beside  her ;  but  I  could  not  see  very  clearly,  and 
returned  to  the  horrid  crib,  where  Lankin  was  asleep,  and 
the  German  fiddler  underneath  him  was  snoring  like  his  own 
violoncello. 

In  the  morning  we  were  all  as  brisk  as  bees.  We  were  in 
the  smooth  waters  of  the  lazy  Scheldt.  The  stewards  began 
preparing  breakfast  with  that  matutinal  eagerness  which  they 
always  show.  The  sleepers  in  the  cabin  were  roused  from 
their  horse-hair  couches  by  the  stewards'  boys  nudging,  and 
pushing,  and  flapping  table-cloths  over  them.  I  shaved  and 
made  a  neat  toilette,  and  came  upon  deck  just  as  we  lay  off 
that  little  Dutch  fort,  which  is,  I  dare  sa^^,  described  in  "  Mur- 
ray's Guide-book,"  and  about  which  I  had  some  rare  banter 
with  poor  Ilicks  and  Lady  Kickleburj^,  whose  sense  of  humor 
is  certainly  not  ver}^  keen.  He  had,  somehow,  joined  her  lady- 
ship's party,  and  they  were  looking  at  the  fort,  and  its  tri- 
colored  flag  —  that  floats  familiar  in  Vandevelde's  pictures  — 
and  at  the  lazy  8hi[)ping,  and  the  tall  roofs,  and  dumpy 
church  towers,  and  flat  pastures,  lying  before  us  in  a  Cuyp- 
like  haze. 

I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  told  them  the  most  awful  fibs  about 
tliat  fort.  How  it  liad  been  defended  b}-  the  Dutch  patriot. 
Van  Swamm(;rdarn,  against  the  united  forces  of  the  Duke  of 
Alva  and  Marslial  'i'urenne,  whose  leg  was  shot  off"  as  he  was 
leading  tlie  last  unsucc^essful  assault,  and  who  turned  round  to 
liis  aide-de-camp  and  said,  "  Allez  dire  au  Premier  Consul, 
que  je  meurs  avec  regret  de  ne  pas  avoir  assez  fait  pour  la 
France  !  "  which  gave  Lady  Kicklebury  an  oi)portunit3'  to  placer 
her  story  of  the  Duke  of  York,  and  the  bombardment  of  Valen- 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


Ill 


ciennes ;  and  caused  3^oiing  Hicks  to  look  at  me  in  a  puzzled 
and  appealing  manner  and  hint  that  I  was  chaffing." 

''Chaffing  indeed!"  says  I,  with  a  particularly  arch  eye- 
twinkle  at  Miss  Fanny.  1  wouldn't  make  fun  of  you ^  Captain 
Hicks !  If  you  doubt  my  historical  accurac}^  look  at  the 
'Biographic  Universelle.'  I  say  —  look  at  the  'Biographic 
Universelle.' " 

He  said,  "  O  —  ah  —  the  '  Biogwaphie  Universelle '  may  be 
all  vevvy  well,  and  that ;  but  I  never  can  make  out  whether 
3'ou  are  joking  or  not,  somehow ;  and  I  alwa3^s  fancy  you  are 
going  to  cawickachaw  me.  Ha,  ha  !  "  And  he  laughed,  tlie 
good-natured  dragoon  laughed,  and  fancied  he  had  made  a 
joke. 

I  entreated  him  not  to  be  so  severe  upon  me  ;  and  again  he 
said,  "  Haw  haw !  "  and  told  me,  "  I  mustn't  expect  to  have 
it  all  my  o%vn  way^  and  if  I  gave  a  hit,  I  must  expect  a  Punch  in 
return.    Haw  haw  !  "    Oh,  you  honest  3^oung  Hicks  ! 

Everybody,  indeed,  was  in  high  spirits.  The  fog  cleared 
off,  the  sun  shone,  the  ladies  chatted  and  laughed,  even  Mrs. 
Milliken  was  in  good  humor  ("  My  wife  is  all  intellect,"  Milli- 
ken  says,  looking  at  her  with  admiration),  and  talked  with  us 
freely  and  gayl\\  She  was  kind  enough  to  say  that  it  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  meet  with  a  literary  and  well-informed  person 
—  that  one  often  lived  with  people  that  did  not  comprehend 
one.  She  asked  if  my  companion,  that  tall  gentleman  —  Mr. 
Serjeant  Lankin,  was  he?  —  was  literary.  And  when  I  said 
that  Lankin  knew  more  Greek,  and  more  Latin,  and  more  law, 
and  more  history,  and  more  everything,  than  all  the  passengers 
put  together,  she  vouchsafed  to  look  at  him  with  interest,  and 
enter  into  a  conversation  w^ith  my  modest  friend  the  Serjeant. 
Then  it  was  that  her  adoring  husband  said  "  liis  Lavinia  was 
all  intellect ; "  —  Lady  Kicklebury  saying  that  she  was  not  a 
literary  woman  :  that  in  her  day  few  acquirements  were  requisite 
for  the  British  female  ;  but  that  she  knew  the  spirit  of  the  age^ 
and  her  duty  as  a  mother^  and  that  "Lavinia  and  Fanny  had 
had  the  best  masters  and  tlie  best  education  which  money  and 
constant  maternal  solicitude  could  impart."  If  our  matrons  are 
virtuous,  as  they  are,  and  it  is  Britain's  boast,  permit  me  to 
say  that  they  certainly  know  it. 

The  conversation  growing  powerfully  intellectual  under  Mrs. 
Milliken,  poor  Hicks  naturall}^  became  uneas}',  and  put  an  end 
to  literature  by  admiring  the  ladies'  head-dresses.  Cab-heads, 
hoods,  what  do  3'ou  call  'em?"  he  asked  of  Miss  Kicklebury. 
Indeed,  she  and  her  sister  wore  a  couple  of  those  blue  silk 


112 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


over-bonnets,  which  have  lately  become  the  fasnion,  and  which 
I  never  should  have  mentioned  but  for  the  3'oung  lady's  reply. 

''Those  hoods!"  she  said — we  call  those  hoods  Uglies ! 
Captain  Hicks." 

Oh,  how  pretty  she  looked  as  she  said  it !  The  blue  eyes 
looked  up  under  the  blue  hood,  so  archly  and  gayly ;  ever"^  so 
many  dimples  began  playing  about  her  face  ;  her  little  voice 
rang  so  fresh  and  sweet,  that  a  heart  which  has  never  loved  a 
tree  or  flower  but  the  vegetable  in  question  was  sure  to  perish 
—  a  heart  worn  down  and  sickened  by  repeated  disappointment, 
mocker}',  faitlilessness  —  a  heart  whereof  despair  is  an  accus- 
tomed tenant,  and  in  whose  desolate  and  lonely  depths  dwells 
an  abiding  gloom,  began  to  throb  once  more  —  began  to  beckon 
Hope  from  the  window  —  began  to  admit  sunshine  —  began 
to  —  O  Folly,  Folly  !  O  Fanny  !  O  Miss  K.,  how  lovely  you 
looked  as  you  said,  ''We  call  those  hoods  Uglies!"  Ugly 
indeed ! 

This  is  a  chronicle  of  feeUngs  and  characters,  not  of  events 
and  places,  so  much.  All  this  time  our  vessel  was  making 
rapid  way  up  the  river,  and  we  saw  before  us  the  slim  towers 
of  the  noble  cathedral  of  Antwerp  soaring  in  the  ro^y  sunshine. 
Lankin  and  I  had  agreed  to  go  to  the  ''  Grand  Laboureur,"  or 
the  Place  de  Meir.  The}'  give  you  a  particular  kind  of  jam- 
tarts  there  —  called  Nun's  tarts,  1  think  —  that  1  remember, 
these  twenty  years,  as  the  very  best  tarts  —  as  good  as  the  tarts 
which  we  ate  when  we  were  boys.  The  "  Laboureur  "  is  a  dear 
old  quiet  comfortable  hotel ;  and  there  is  no  man  in  England 
who  likes  a  good  dinner  better  than  Lankin. 

''  What  hotel  do  you  go  to?"  I  asked  of  Lady  Kicklebury. 

"We  go  to  the  'Saint  Antoine'  of  course.  Everybody 
goes  to  the  '  Saint  Antoine,'  "  her  ladyship  said.  "  We  propose 
to  rest  here  ;  to  do  tlie  Rubens's  ;  and  to  proceed  to  Cologne 
to-morrow.  Horace,  call  Fincli  and  Bowman  ;  and  your  courier, 
if  he  will  have  the  condescension  to  wait  upon  me^  will  perhaps 
look  to  the  baggage." 

"I  think,  Lankin,"  said  I,  ''as  everybody  seems  going  to 
the  '  Saint  Antoine,'  we  may  as  well  go,  and  not  spoil  the 
part3\" 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  too,"  says  Hicks  ;  as  if  he  belonged  to  the 
party. 

And  oh,  it  was  a  great  sight  when  we  landed,  and  at  every 
place  at  which  we  paused  afterwards,  to  see  Hirsch  over  tlie 
Kicklebury  baggage.,  and  lieur  his  p()lygh>t  maledictions  at  the 


ON  THE  KHINE. 


113 


porters  !  If  a  man  sometimes  feels  sad  and  lonely  at  his  bach- 
elor condition,  if  some  feelings  of  env}^  pervade  his  heart,  at 
seeing  beaut}'  on  another's  arm,  and  kind  eyes  directed  towards 
a  happier  mug  than  his  own  —  at  least  there  are  some  consola- 
tions in  travelhng,  when  a  fellow  has  but  one  little  portmanteau 
or  bag  which  he  can  easily  shoulder,  and  thinks  of  the  innumer- 
able bags  and  trunks  which  the  married  man  and  the  father 
drags  after  him.  The  married  Briton  on  a  tour  is  but  a  luggage 
overseer :  his  luggage  is  his  morning  thought,  and  his  nightly 
terror.  When  he  floats  along  the  Rhine  he  has  one  eye  on  a 
ruin,  and  the  other  on  his  luggage.  When  he  is  in  the  railroad 
he  is  always  thinking,  or  ordered  by  his  wife  to  think,  Is  the 
luggage  safe?"  It  clings  round  him.  It  never  leaves  him 
(except  when  it  does  leave  him,  as  a  trunk  or  two  will,  and 
make  him  doubly  miserable).  His  carpet-bags  lie  on  his  chest 
at  night,  and  his  wife's  forgotten  bandbox  haunts  his  turbid 
dreams. 

I  think  it  was  after  she  found  that  Lady  Kicklebury  proposed 
to  go  to  the  Grand  Saint  Antoine  "  that  Lady  Kniglitsbridge 
put  herself  wnth  her  maid  into  a  carriage  and  went  to  the  other 
inn.  We  saw  her  at  the  cathedral,  where  she  kept  aloof  from 
our  party.  Milliken  went  up  the  tower,  and  so  did  Miss  Fanny. 
I  am  too  old  a  tiaveller  to  mount  up  those  immeasurable  stairs, 
for  the  purpose  of  making  myself  dizz}^  by  gazing  upon  a  vast 
map  of  low  countries  stretched  beneath  me,  and  w^aited  with 
Mrs.  Milhken  and  her  mother  below. 

When  the  tower-climbers  descended,  we  asked  Miss  Fanny 
and  her  brother  what  they  had  seen. 

''We  saw  Captain  Hicks  up  there,"  remarked  Milliken. 
''And  I  am  very  glad  you  didn't  come,  Lavinia  my  love. 
The  excitement  would  have  been  too  much  for  you,  quite  too 
much." 

All  this  while  Lady  Kicklebury  was  looking  at  Fanny,  and 
Fanny  was  holding  her  eyes  down  ;  and  I  knew  that  between 
her  and  this  poor  Hicks  there  could  be  nothing  serious,  for  she 
had  laughed  at  him  and  mimicked  him  to  me  half  a  dozen  times 
in  the  course  of  the  dviy. 

We  "  do  the  Rubens's,"  as  Lady  Kicklebur}'  says  ;  we  trudge 
from  cathedral  to  picture-galler}',  from  church  to  church.  We 
see  the  calm  old  city,  with  its  towers  and  gables,  the  bourse, 
and  the  vast  town-hall ;  and  I  have  the  honor  to  give  Lady 
Kicklebury  my  arm  during  these  peregrinations,  and  to  hear  a 
hundred  particuUirs  regarding  her  ladyship's  life  and  family. 
How  Milliken  has  been  recentlv  building  at  Pigeoncot :  how 

8' 


114 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


he  will  have  two  thousand  a  year  more  when  his  uncle  dies ; 
how  she  had  peremptorily  to  put  a  stop  to  the  assiduities  of 
that  unprincipled  young  man,  Lord  Roughhead,  whom  Lavinia 
always  detested,  and  who  married  Miss  Brent  out  of  sheer 
pique.  It  was  a  great  escape  for  her  darhng  Lavinia.  Rough- 
head  is  a  most  wild  and  dissipated  young  man,  one  of  Kickle- 
burj-'s  Christchurch  friends,  of  whom  her  son  has  too  many, 
alas  !  and  she  enters  into  many  particulars  respecting  the  con- 
duct of  Kicklebmy  —  the  unhappy  boy's  smoking,  his  love  of 
bilhards,  his  fondness  for  the  turf:  she  fears  he  has  already 
injured  his  income,  she  fears  he  is  even  now  playing  at  Noir- 
bourg ;  she  is  going  thither  to  wean  him,  if  possible,  from  his 
companions  and  his  gayeties — what  may  not  a  mother  effect? 
She  only  wrote  to  him  the  day  before  they  left  London  to 
announce  that  she  was  marching  on  him  with  her  family.  He 
is  in  many  respects  like  his  poor  father  —  the  same  openness 
and  frankness,  the  same  easy  disposition :  alas  !  the  same  love 
of  pleasure.  But  she  had  reformed  tlie  father,  and  will  do  her 
utmost  to  call  back  her  dear  misguided  boy.  She  had  an  ad- 
vantageous match  for  him  in  view  —  a  lady  not  beautiful  in 
person,  it  is  true,  but  possessed  of  every  good  principle,  and  a 
ver}^,  ver}^  handsome  fortune.  It  was  under  pretence  of  flying 
from  this  lad}^  that  Kicklebury  left  town.  But  she  knew 
better. 

I  sa}^  .young  men  will  be  young  men,  and  sow  their  wild  oats  ; 
and  think  to  mj'self  that  the  invasion  of  his  mamma  will  be 
perliaps  more  surprising  than  pleasant  to  young  Sir  Thomas 
Kicklebury,  and  that  she  possibly  talks  about  herself  and  her 
famil}',  and  her  virtues  and  her  daughters,  a  little  too  much : 
but  she  will  make  a  confidant  of  me,  and  all  the  time  we  are 
doing  the  Rubcns's  she  is  talking  of  the  pictures  at  Kicklebury, 
of  her  portrait  by  Lawrence,  pronounced  to  be  his  finest  work, 
of  Lavinia's  talent  for  drawing,  and  the  expense  of  Fanny's 
music- masters  ;  of  her  house  in  town  (where  she  hopes  to  see 
me)  ;  of  lier  parties  which  were  stop[)ed  b}^  the  illness  of  her 
butler.  She  talks  Kicklebury  until  1  am  sick.  And  oh.  Miss 
Fann}^  all  of  this  I  endure,  like  an  old  fool,  for  an  occasional 
sight  of  3  our  ])right  ej'cs  and  rosy  lace  ! 

[Another  i)ar(nithesis.  —  "  We  hope  to  see  3'ou  in  town,  Mr. 
Titmarsh."  Foolish  mocker}' !  Jf  all  the  peoi)le  whom  one 
has  met  abroad,  and  who  liave  said,  AV^'  hope  to  met^t  you 
often  in  town,"  hiid  but  made  any  the  slightc^st  efforts  to  reahze 
their  hopes  by  sending  u  simple  line  oC  invitation  through  the 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


115 


penn}^  post,  what  an  enormous  dinner  acquaintance  one  would 
have  had  !  But  I  mistrust  people  who  say,  We  hope  to  see 
you  in  town."] 

Lankin  comes  in  at  the  end  of  the  day,  just  before  dinner- 
time. He  has  paced  the  whole  town  by  himself — church, 
tower,  and  fortifications,  and  Rubens,  and  all.  He  is  full  of 
Egmont  and  Alva.  He  is  up  to  all  the  history  of  the  siege, 
when  Chassee  defended,  and  the  French  attacked  the  place. 
After  dinner  we  stroll  along  the  quays  ;  and  over  the  quiet 
cigar  in  the  hotel  court.  Monsieur  Lankin  discourses  about  the 
Rubens  pictures,  in  a  wa}'  which  shows  that  the  learned  Ser- 
jeant has  an  eye  for  pictorial  beauty  as  well  as  other  beauties 
in  this  world,  and  can  rightly  admire  the  vast  energy,  the  prod- 
igal genius,  the  ro3^al  splendor  of  the  King  of  Antwerp.  In  the 
most  modest  way  in  the  world  he  has  remarked  a  student  mak- 
ing clever  sketches  at  the  Museum,  and  has  ordered  a  couple 
of  copies  from  him  of  the  famous  Vand^^ke  and  the  wondrous 
adoration  of  the  Magi,  "a  greater  picture,"  says  he,  ''than 
even  the  cathedral  picture  ;  in  which  opinion  those  may  agree 
who  like."  He  says  he  thinks  Miss  Kicklebury  is  a  pretty  little 
thing ;  that  all  my  swans  are  geese ;  and  that  as  for  that  old 
woman,  with  her  airs  and  graces,  she  is  the  most  intolerable  old 
nuisance  in  the  world.  There  is  much  good  judgment,  but 
there  is  too  much  sardonic  humor  about  Lankin.  He  cannot 
appreciate  women  properly.  He  is  spoiled  by  being  an  old 
bachelor,  and  living  in  that  dingy  old  Pump  Court ;  where,  by 
the  way,  he  has  a  cellar  fit  for  a  Pontiflf.  We  go  to  rest ;  they 
have  given  us  humble  lodgings  high  up  in  the  building,  which 
we  accept  like  philosophers  who  travel  with  but  a  portmanteau 
apiece.  The  Kickleburys  have  the  grand  suite,  as  becomes 
their  dignity.  Which,  which  of  those  twinkling  lights  illumines 
the  chamber  of  Miss  Fan  113^  ? 

Hicks  is  sitting  in  the  court  too,  smoking  his  cigar.  He 
and  Lankin  met  in  the  fortifications.  Lankin  saj's  he  is  a  sen- 
sible fellow,  and  seems  to  know  his  profession.  '-Everyman 
can  talk  well  about  something,"  the  Serjeant  says.  ''And 
one  man  can  about  everything,"  sa^'s  I ;  at  which  Lankin 
blushes  ;  and  we  take  our  fiaring  tallow  candles  and  go  to  bed. 
He  has  us  up  an  hour  before  the  starting  time,  and  we  have 
that  period  to  admire  Herr  Oberkellner,  who  swaggers  as  be- 
comes the  Oberkellner  of  a  house  frequented  b}'  ambassadors  ; 
who  contradicts  us  to  our  faces,  and  whose  own  countenance 
is  ornamented  with  yesterday's  beard,  of  which,  or  of  any  part 


116 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


of  his  clothing,  the  graceful  youth  does  not  appear  to  have  di- 
vested himself  since  last  we  left  him.  We  recognize,  some- 
what ding}'  and  faded,  the  elaborate  shirt-front  which  appeared 
at  3'esterda3''s  banquet.  Farewell,  Herr  Oberkellner !  May 
we  never  see  3'our  handsome  countenance,  washed  or  un- 
washed, shaven  or  unshorn,  again  ! 

"Here  come  the  ladies:  "Good  morning,  Miss  Fanny." 
"  I  hope  3^ou  slept  well.  Lady  Kicklebury  ?"  "  A  tremendous 
bill?"  "No  wonder;  how  can  you  expect  otherwise,  when 
you  have  such  a  bad  dinner?"  Hearken  to  Hirsch's  commi- 
nations  over  the  luggage  !  Look  at  the  honest  Belgian  soldiers, 
and  that  fat  Freyschiitz  on  guard,  his  rifle  in  one  hand,  and  the 
other  hand  in  his  pocket.  Captain  Hicks  bursts  into  a  laugh  at 
the  sight  of  the  fat  Frej  schiitz,  and  sa^^s,  "  By  Jove,  Titmarsh, 
you  must  cawickachaw  him."  And  we  take  our  seats  at  length 
and  at  leisure,  and  the  railway  trumpets  blow,  and  (save  for  a 
brief  halt)  we  never  stop  till  night,  trumpeting  by  green  flats 
and  pastures,  hy  broad  canals  and  old  towns,  through  Liege  and 
Verviers,  through  Aix  and  Cologne,  till  we  are  landed  at  Bonn 
at  nightfall. 

We  all  have  supper,  or  tea  —  we  have  become  pretty  inti- 
mate—  we  look  at  the  strangers'  book,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in 
the  great  room  of  the  "  Star  Hotel."  Wh}^  everybody  is  on  the 
Rhine  !    Here  are  the  names  of  half  one's  acquaintance. 

"  I  see  Lord  and  Lady  Exborough  are  gone  on,"  says  Lady 
Kicklebury,  whose  e3'e  fastens  naturall}^  on  her  kindred  aris- 
tocracy. "  Lord  and  Lady  Wyebridge  and  suite,  Lady  Zedland 
and  her  family." 

"Hallo!  here's  Cutler  of  the  Onety-oneth,  and  MacMull 
of  the  Greens,  en  route  to  Noirbourg,"  says  Hicks,  confiden- 
tially. "Know  MacMull?  Devilish  good  fellow  —  such  a 
fellow  to  smoke." 

Lankin,  too,  reads  and  grins.  "  WI13',  are  the}'  going  the 
Rhenish  circuit?"  he  says,  and  reads: 

Sir  Thomas  Minos,  Lady  Minos,  nebst  Begleitung,  aus  Eng- 
land. 

Sir  John  iEacus,  mit  Familie  und  Diencrschaft,  aus  England. 
Sir  Roger  Rhadnnianthiis. 
Thomas  Smith,  Serjeant. 

S(;rjeant  Brown  and  Mrs.  Brown,  aus  England. 

Serjeant  Tomkiris,  Anglais.  Madame  Tomkins,  Mesde- 
moiscUes  Tomkins. 

Monsieur  Kewsy.  Conseiller  de  S.  M.  la  Reine  d'Angleterre. 
Mrs.  Kewsy,  three  Miss  Kewsys. 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


117 


And  to  this  list  Lankin,  laughing,  had  put  down  his  own 
name,  and  that  of  the  reader's  obedient  servant,  under  the 
august  autograph  of  Lady  Kicklebury,  who  signed  for  herself, 
her  son-in-law,  and  her  suite. 

Yes,  we  all  flock  the  one  after  the  other,  we  faithful  English 
folks.  We  can  buy  Harve\^  Sauce,  and  Cayenne  Pepper,  and 
Morison's  Pills,  in  every  city  in  the  world.  We  carry  our  nation 
everywhere  with  us  ;  and  are  in  our  island,  wherever  we  go. 
Toto  divisos  orhe  —  always  separated  from  the  people  in  the 
midst  of  whom  we  are. 

When  we  came  to  the  steamer  next  morning,  "the  castled 
crag  of  Drachenfels  "  rose  up  in  the  sunrise  before,  and  looked 
as  pink  as  the  cheeks  of  Master  Jack}^,  when  they  have  been 
just  washed  in  the  morning.  How  that  rosy  light,  too,  did 
become  Miss  Fanny's  pretty  dimples,  to  be  sure  !  How  good 
a  cigar  is  at  the  earl}^  dawn !  I  maintain  that  it  has  a  flavor 
which  it  does  not  possess  at  later  hours,  and  that  it  partakes  of 
the  freshness  of  all  Nature.  And  wine,  too  :  wine  is  never  so 
good  as  at  breakfast ;  only  one  can't  drink  it,  for  tipsiness's 
sake. 

See  !  there  is  a  3'oung  fellow  drinking  soda-water  and  brandy 
alread3^  He  puts  down  his  glass  with  a  gasp  of  satisfaction. 
It  is  evident  that  he  had  need  of  that  fortifier  and  refresher. 
He  puts  down  the  beaker  and  says,  '-How  are  3'ou,  Titmarsh? 
I  was  so  cut  last  night.  My  e3^es,  wasn't  I !  Not  in  the  least  : 
that's  all." 

It  is  the  3^outhful  descendant  and  heir  of  an  ancient  line : 
the  noble  Earl  of  Grimsb3^'s  son,  Viscount  Talbovs.  He  is 
travelling  with  the  Rev.  Baring  Leader,  his  tutor ;  who,  having 
a  great  natural  turn  and  liking  tow^ards  the  aristocracy,  and 
having  inspected  Lady  Kicklebury's  cards  on  her  trunks,  has 
introduced  himself  to  her  lad3'ship  already,  and  has  inquired 
after  Sir  Thomas  Kicklebur3',  whom  he  remembers  perfectly, 
and  whom  he  had  often  the  happiness  of  meeting  when  Sir 
Thomas  was  an  undergraduate  at  Oxford.  There  are  few 
characters  more  amiable,  and  delightful  to  w^atch  and  contem- 
plate, than  some  of  those  middle-aged  Oxford  bucks  who  hang 
about  the  university  and  live  wdth  the  young  tufts.  Leader  can 
talk  racing  and  boating  with  the  fastest  3'oung  Christchurch 
gentleman.  Leader  occasionally  rides  to  cover  with  Lord 
Talbo3's  ;  is  a  good  shot,  and  seldom  walks  out  without  a  set- 
ter or  a  spaniel  at  his  heels.  Leader  knows  the  '-Peerage" 
and  the  "  Racing  Calendar"  as  well  as  the  Oxford  cram-books. 


118 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


Leader  comes  up  to  town  and  dines  with  Lord  Grimsb3\  Leader 
goes  to  Court  every  two  years.  He  is  the  greatest  swell  in  his 
common-room.  He  drinks  claret,  and  can't  stand  port-wine 
any  longer ;  and  the  old  fellows  of  his  college  admire  him,  and 
pet  him,  and  get  all  their  knowledge  of  the  world  and  the  aris- 
tocracy from  him.  I  admire  those  kind  old  dons  when  they 
appear  affable  and  jauntj^,  men  of  the  world,  members  of  the 
Camford  and  Oxbridge  Club,"  upon  the  London  pavement. 
I  like  to  see  them  over  the  Morning  Post  in  the  common-room  ; 
with  a  ''Ha,  I  see  Lady  Rackstraw  has  another  daughter." 

"  Poppleton  there  has  been  at  another  party  at  X   House, 

and  yo?/  weren't  asked,  my  boy."  —  ''  Lord  Coverdale  has  got  a 
large  party  stajing  at  Coverdale.  Did  you  know  him  at  Christ- 
church?  He  was  a  very  handsome  man  before  he  broke  his 
nose  fighting  the  bargeman  at  Iffly :  a  hght  weight,  but  a  beau- 
tiful sparrer,"  &c.  Let  me  add  that  Leader,  although  he  does 
love  a  tuft,  has  a  kind  heart :  as  his  mother  and  sisters  in 
Yorkshire  know ;  as  all  the  village  knows  too  —  which  is  proud 
of  his  position  in  the  great  world,  and  welcomes  him  very  kindly 
when  he  comes  down  and  takes  the  duty  at  Christmas,  and 
preaches  to  them  one  or  two  of  "  the  ver}'-  sermons  which  Lord 
Grimsby  was  good  enough  to  like,  when  I  delivered  them  at 
Talboys." 

"You  are  not  acquainted  with  Lord  Talboys?"  Leader 
asks,  with  a  degage  air.  I  shall  have  much  pleasure  in  intro- 
ducing you  to  him.  Talboys,  let  me  introduce  3^ou  to  Lady 
Kicklebury.  Sir  Thomas  Kickleburj^  was  not  at  Christchurch 
in  your  time  ;  but  you  have  heard  of  him,  I  dare  say.  Y^our  son 
has  left  a  reputation  at  Oxford." 

"I  should  think  I  have,  too.  He  walked  a  hundred  miles 
in  a  hundred  hours.  They  said  he  bet  that  he'd  drink  a  hundred 
pints  of  beer  in  a  hundred  hours  :  but  1  don't  think  he  could  do 
it  —  not  strong  beer;  don't  think  any  man  could.  The  beer 
here  isn't  worth  a  —  " 

"  My  dear  Talboys,"  says  Leader,  with  a  winning  smile, 
''  I  suppose  Lady  Kicklebury  is  not  a  judge  of  beer  —  and  what 
an  un romantic  subject  of  conversation  here,  under  the  castled 
crag  inunortalizcd  ])y  Byron." 

What  the  deuce  does  it  mean  about  peasant-girls  with  dark 
blue  eyes,  and  hands  tliat  offer  corn  and  wine?"  asks  Talboys. 
"  Fve  ui\\i\Y  seen  any  [x'asant-girls,  except  the  —  ugliest  set  of 
women  I  (;ver  looked  at." 

'''J'lie  poet's  lieense.  I  see,  Miliken,  you  are  making 
a  charming  sketch.     You  used  to  draw  when  you  were  at 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


119 


Brasenose,  Milliken  ;  and  plav  —  yes,  you  played  the  violon- 
cello." 

Mr.  Milliken  still  possessed  these  accomplishments.  He 
was  taken  up  that  ver^^  evening  b}^  a  soldier  at  Coblentz,  for 
making  a  sketch  of  Ehrenbreitstein.  Mrs.  Milliken  sketches 
immensel}'  too,  and  writes  poetr}^ :  such  drear\^  pictures,  such 
drear}'  poems  !  but  professional  people  are  proverbially  jealous  ; 
and  I  doubt  whether  our  fellow-passenger,  the  German,  would 
even  allow  that  Milliken  could  play  the  violoncello. 

Lad}'  Kicklebury  gives  Miss  Fanny  a  nudge  when  Lord 
Talbot's  appears,  and  orders  her  to  exert  all  her  fascinations. 
How  the  old  lady  coaxes,  and  she  wheedles  !  She  pours  out 
the  Talbo3's'  pedigree  upon  him  ;  and  asks  after  his  aunt,  and 
his  mother's  family.  Is  he  going  to  Noirbourg?  How  delight- 
ful !  There  is  nothiug  like  British  spirits ;  and  to  see  an 
English  matron  well  set  upon  a  3  oung  man  of  large  fortune 
and  high  rank,  is  a  great  and  curious  sight. 

And  yet,  somehow,  the  British  doggedness  does  not  always 
answer.  ''Do  3'ou  know  that  old  woman  in  the  drab  jacket, 
Titmarsh?"  m}"  hereditary  legislator  asks  of  me.  What  the 
devil  is  she  bothering  me  for,  about  my  aunts,  and  setting  her 
daughter  at  me?  I  ain't  such  a  fool  as  that.  I  ain't  clever, 
Titmarsh  ;  I  never  said  1  was.  I  never  pretend  to  be  clever, 
and  that  —  but  wh3^  does  that  old  fool  bother  me,  ha3'?  Heigho  ! 
Tm  devilish  thirsty.  I  was  devilish  cut  last  night.  I  think  I 
must  have  another  go-off.  Hallo  you  !  Kellner  !  Garsong  ! 
Ody  soda,  Oter  petty  vare  do  dyvee  de  Conac.  That's  your 
sort;  isn't  it.  Leader?" 

''You  will  speak  French  well  enough,  if  you  practise,"  sa3's 
Leader  with  a  tender  voice;  "practice  is  everything.  Shall 
we  dine  at  the  table-d'hdte  ?  Waiter !  put  down  the  name  of 
Viscount  Talboys  and  Mr.  Leader,  if  you  please." 

The  boat  is  full  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  For'ard, 
there  are  peasants  and  soldiers  :  stumpy,  placid-looking  little 
warriors  for  the  most  part,  smoking  feeble  cigars  and  looking 
quite  harmless  under  their  enormous  helmets.  A  poor  stunted 
dull-looking  boy  of  sixteen,  staggering  before  a  black-striped 
sentry-box,  with  an  enormous  musket  on  his  shoulder,  does 
not  seem  to  me  a  martial  or  awe-inspiring  object.  Has  it 
not  been  said  that  w^e  carry  our  prejudices  everywhere,  and 
only  admire  what  we  are  accustomed  to  admire  hi  our  own 
countr3'  ^ 

Yonder  walks  a  handsome  young  soldier  who  has  just  been 
marrying  a  wife.    How  happy  they  seem !  and  how  pleased 


120 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


that  everybody  should  remark  their  happiness.  It  is  a  fact 
that  in  the  full  sunshine,  and  before  a  couple  of  hundred 
people  on  board  the  Joseph  Miller  steamer,  the  soldier  abso- 
lutely kissed  Mrs.  Soldier ;  at  which  the  sweet  Fanny  Kickle- 
bur}^  was  made  to  blush. 

We  were  standing  together  looking  at  the  various  groups  : 
the  prett}'  peasant- woman  (reall}^  pretty  for  once,)  with  the 
red  head-dress  and  fluttering  ribbons,  and  the  child  in  her 
arms  ;  the  joU}^  fat  old  gentleman,  who  was  drinking  Rhine- 
wine  before  noon,  and  turning  his  back  upon  all  the  castles, 
towers,  and  ruins,  which  reflected  their  crumbling  peaks  in  the 
water ;  upon  the  handsome  young  students  who  came  with  us 
from  Bonn,  with  their  national  colors  in  their  caps,  with  their 
picturesque  looks,  their  3'ellow  ringlets,  their  budding  mous- 
taches, and  with  cuts  upon  almost  ever}^  one  of  their  noses, 
obtained  in  duels  at  the  university  :  most  picturesque  are  these 
young  fellows,  indeed  —  but  ah,  w^hy  need  the}'  have  such  black 
hands  ? 

Near  us  is  a  type,  too  :  a  man  who  adorns  his  own  tale,  and 
points  his  own  moral.  "  Yonder,  in  his  carriage,  sits  the  Count 
de  Reineck,  who  w^on't  travel  without  that  dismal  old  chariot, 
though  it  is  shabby,  costly,  and  clumsy,  and  though  the  wicked 
red  republicans  come  and  smoke  under  his  very  nose.  Yes, 
Miss  Fanny,  it  is  the  lusty  young  Germany,  pulling  the  nose  of 
the  w^orn-out  old  world." 

''Law,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Titmarsh?"  cries  the  dear 
Fanny. 

''And  here  comes  Mademoiselle  de  Reineck,  with  her  com- 
panion. You  see  she  is  wearing  out  one  of  the  faded  silk 
gowns  which  she  has  spoiled  at  the  Residenz  during  the  sea- 
son :  for  the  Reinecks  are  economical,  though  they  are  proud  ; 
and  forced,  like  many  oilier  insolvent  grandees,  to  do  and  to 
wear  shabby  things. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  the  young  countess  to  call  her  com- 
panion '  Louise,'  and  to  let  J^ouise  call  her  '  Laure  ;  '  but  if 
faces  maybe  trusted,  —  and  we  can  read  in  one  countenance 
conceit  and  tyrainiy  ;  deceit  and  slyness  in  another, — dear 
Louis(;  has  to  sufler  some  hard  raps  from  dear  Laure  :  and, 
to  judg(i  from  luir  dress,  I  don't  think  poor  Louise  has  her 
salary  paid  very  regularly. 

"  What  a  comfort  it  is  to  live  in  a  country  where  there 
is  neither  insolence  nor  bankrui)tcy  among  the  great  folks, 
nor  cringing,  nor  flattery  among  the  small.  Isn't  it,  Miss 
Fanny  ?  " 


ON^  THE  RHINE. 


121 


Miss  Fanny  says,  that  she  can't  understand  whether  I  am 
joking  or  serious  ;  and  her  mamma  calls  her  away  to  look  at 
the  ruins  of  Wigginstein.  Everybod}^  looks  at  AVigginstein. 
You  are  told  in  Murray  to  look  at  Wigginstein. 

Lankin,  who  has  been  standing  by,  with  a  grin  ever}^  now 
and  then  upon  his  sardonic  countenance,  comes  up  and  saj^s, 
Titmarsh,  how  can  you  be  so  impertinent?  " 
Impertinent !  as  how?  " 

''The  girl  must  understand  what  you  mean;  and  3'ou 
shouldn't  laugh  at  her  own  mother  to  her.  Did  you  ever  see 
anything  like  the  way  in  which  that  horrible  woman  is  follow- 
ing the  young  lord  about?" 

''See!  You  see  it  every  day,  my  dear  fellow;  only  the 
trick  is  better  done,  and  Lady  Kicklebury  is  rather  a  clumsy 
practitioner.  See  !  why  nobody  is  better  aware  of  the  springes 
which  are  set  to  catch  him  than  that  young  fellow  himself, 
who  is  as  knowing  as  an}^  veteran  in  Ma}-  Fair.  And  you 
don't  suppose  that  Lady  Kicklebury  fancies  that  she  is  doing 
anything  mean,  or  anything  wrong?  Heaven  bless  you!  she 
never  did  anything  wrong  in  her  life.  She  has  no  idea  but 
that  everything  she  says,  and  thinks,  and  does  is  right.  And 
no  doubt  she  never  did  rob  a  church  :  and  was  a  faithful  wife 
to  Sir  Thomas,  and  pays  her  tradesmen.  Confound  her  virtue  ! 
It  is  that  which  makes  her  so  wonderful  —  that  brass  armor  in 
which  she  walks  impenetrable  —  not  knowing  w^iat  pit}^  is,  or 
chai'ity  ;  crying  sometimes  when  she  is  vexed,  or  thwarted,  but 
laughing  never  ;  cringing,  and  domineering  by  the  same  natural 
instinct  —  never  doubting  about  herself  above  all.  Let  us  rise, 
and  revolt  against  those  people,  Lankin.  Let  us  war  with 
them,  and  smite  them  utterl3\  It  is  to  use  against  these,  espe- 
ciall\%  that  Scorn  and  Satire  were  invented." 

"And  the  animal  3'ou  attack,"  says  Lankin,  "is  provided 
with  a  hide  to  defend  him  —  it  is  a  common  ordinance  of 
nature." 

And  so  we  pass  b}^  tower  and  town,  and  float  up  the  Rhine. 
We  don't  describe  the  river.  Who  does  not  know  it?  How 
you  see  people  asleep  in  the  cabins  at  the  most  picturesque 
parts,  and  angry  to  be  awakened  when  the}'  fire  oft'  those  stupid 
guns  for  the  echoes  !  It  is  as  familiar  to  numbers  of  people 
as  Greenwich ;  and  we  know  the  merits  of  the  inns  along 
the  road  as  if  they  were  the  "Trafalgar"  or  the  "Star  and 
Garter."    How  stale  everything  grows  !    If  we  were  to  live 


122 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


in  a  garden  of  Eden,  now,  and  the  gate  were  open,  we  should 
go  out,  and  tramp  forward,  and  push  on,- and  get  up  early  in 
the  morning,  and  push  on  again  —  anj'thing  to  keep  moving, 
anj^thing  to  get  a  change :  anything  but  quiet  for  the  restless 
children  of  Cain. 

So  many  thousands  of  Enghsh  folks  have  been  at  Rouget- 
noirbourg  in  this  and  past  seasons,  that  it  is  scarcely  needful 
to  alter  the  name  of  that  pretty  little  ga}^,  wicked  place.  There 
were  so  manj^  British  barristers  there  this  year  that  they  called 
the  ''Hotel  des  Quatre  Saisons "  the  Hotel  of  Quarter  Ses- 
sions." There  were  judges  and  their  wives,  Serjeants  and  their 
ladies,  Queen's  counsel  learned  in  the  law,  the  Northern  circuit 
and  the  Western  circuit :  there  were  officers  of  half-pay  and 
full-pay,  military  officers,  naval  officers,  and  sheriffs'  officers. 
There  were  people  of  high  fashion  and  rank,  and  people  of  no 
rank  at  all ;  there  were  men  and  women  of  reputation,  and  of 
the  two  kinds  of  reputation ;  there  were  English  boys  playing 
cricket ;  English  pointers  putting  up  the  German  partridges, 
and  English  guns  knocking  them  down ;  there  were  women 
whose  husbands,  and  men  whose  wives  were  at  home ;  there 
were  High  Church  and  Low  Church  —  England  turned  out  for 
a  holiday,  in  a  word.  How  much  farther  shall  we  extend  our 
holiday  ground,  and  where  shall  we  camp  next?  A  winter  at 
Cairo  is  nothing  now.  Perhaps  ere  long  we  shall  'be  going  to 
Saratoga  Springs,  and  the  Americans  coming  to  Margate  for 
the  summer. 

Apartments  befittiiig  her  dignity  and  the  number  of  her 
family  had  been  secured  for  Lady  Kicklebury  by  her  dutiful 
son,  in  the  same  house  in  which  one  of  Lankin's  friends  had 
secured  for  us  much  humbler  lodgings.  Kickleburj^  received 
his  mother's  advent  with  a  great  deal  of  good  humor ;  and  a 
wonderful  figure  the  good-natured  little  baronet  was  when  he 
presented  himself  to  his  astonished  friends,  scarcely  recogniz- 
able by  his  own  parent  and  sisters,  and  the  staring  retainers  of 
their  house. 

''  Mercy,  Kicklebury  !  have  you  become  a  red  republican?" 
his  motlier  ask(id. 

"  I  can't  find  a  place  to  kiss  you,"  said  Miss  Fanny,  laugh- 
ing to  her  brother  ;  and  he  gave  her  prc^tty  cheek  such  a  scrub 
with  his  red  beard,  as  made  some  folks  think  it  would  be  very 
pleasant  to  be  Miss  Fanny's  brother. 

In  the  course  of  his  travc^ls,  one  of  Sir  Thomas  Kicklebury's 
chief  amusements  and  cnres  had  been  to  cultivate  this  bushy 


OK  THE  RHINE. 


123 


auburn  ornament.  He  said  that  no  man  could  pronounce 
German  properly  without  a  beard  to  his  jaws  ;  but  he  did  not 
appear  to  have  got  much  be3^ond  this  preliminary  step  to 
learning  ;  and,  in  spite  of  his  beard,  his  honest  Enghsh  accent 
came  out,  as  his  jolly  Enghsh  face  looked  forth  from  behind 
that  fierce  and  bristly  decoration,  perfectly  good-humored  and 
unmistakable.  We  try  our  best  to  look  like  foreigners,  but  we 
can't.  P^very  Itahan  mendicant  or  Pont  Neuf  beggar  knows 
his  Englishman  in  spite  of  blouse,  and  beard,  and  slouched  hat. 

There  is  a  peculiar  high-bred  grace  about  us,"  I  whisper  to 
Lady  Kickleburj^,  an  aristocratic  je  ne  s^ais  quoi,  which  is 
not  to  be  found  in  any  but  Enghshmen  ;  and  it  is  that  which 
makes  us  so  immensely  liked  and  admired  all  over  the  Conti- 
nent." Well,  this  may  be  truth  or  joke  — this  may  be  a  sneer 
or  a  simple  assertion  :  our  vulgarities  and  our  insolences  may, 
perhaps,  make  us  as  remarkable  as  that  high  breeding  which 
we  assume  to  possess.  It  may  be  that  the  Continental  society 
ridicules  and  detests  us,  as  we  walk  domineering  over  Europe  ; 
but,  after  all,  which  of  us  would  denationalize  himself?  who 
wouldn't  be  an  Englishman?  Come,  sir,  cosmopolite  as  you 
are,  passing  all  your  winters  at  Rome  or  at  Paris  ;  exiled  by 
choice,  or  povertj^,  from  your  own  country ;  preferring  easier 
manners,  cheaper  pleasures,  a  simpler  life :  are  you  not  still 
proud  of  your  British  citizenship  ?  and  would  you  like  to  be  a 
Frenchman  ? 

Kicklebury  has  a  great  acquaintance  at  Noirbourg,  and  as 
he  walks  into  the  great  concert-room  at  night,  introducing  his 
mother  and  sisters  there,  he  seemed  to  look  about  with  a  little 
anxiet}^  lest  all  of  his  acquaintance  should  recognize  him. 
There  are  some  in  that  most  strange  and  motley  companv  with 
whom  he  had  rather  not  exchange  salutations,  under  present 
circumstances.  Pleasure-seekers  from  every  nation  in  the  world 
are  here,  sharpers  of  both  sexes,  wearers  of  the  stars  and  cor- 
dons of  every  court  in  Europe  ;  Russian  princesses,  Spanish 
grandees,  Belgian,  French,  and  English  nobles,  every  degree 
of  Briton,  from  the  ambassador,  who  has  his  conge,  to  the 
London  apprentice  who  has  come  out  for  his  fortnight's  lark. 
Kicklebury  knows  them  all,  and  has  a  good-natured  nod  for 
each. 

"Who  is  that  lady  with  the  three  daughters  who  saluted 
you,  Kicklebury?"  asks  his  mother. 

"  That  is  our  Ambassadress  at  X.,  ma'am.  I  saw  her  yes- 
terday buving  a  penny  toy  for  one  of  her  little  children  in 
Frankfort  Fair." 


124 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


Lad}^  Kicklebiiry  looks  towards  Lady  X. :  she  makes  her 
excellency  an  undeveloped  curtsy,  as  it  were ;  she  waves  her 
plumed  head  (Lady  K.  is  got  up  in  great  style,  in  a  rich 
dejeuner  toilette,  perfectl}^  regardless  of  expense)  ;  she  salutes 
the  ambassadress  with  a  sweeping  gesture  from  her  chair,  and 
backs  before  her  as  before  roj^alty,  and  turns  to  her  daughters 
large  eyes  full  of  meaning,  and  spreads  out  her  silks  in  state. 

And  who  is  that  distinguished-looking  man  who  just 
passed,  and  who  a'ave  you  a  reserved  nod?  "  asks  her  ladyship. 
-  Is  that  Lord  X.^  " 

Kicklebury  burst  out  laughing.  "  That,  ma'am,  is  Mr. 
Higmore,  of  Conduit  Street,  tailor,  draper,  and  habit-maker: 
and  1  owe  him  a  hundred  pound." 

"•The  insolence  of  that  sort  of  people  is  really  intolerable," 
says  Lad}^  Kicklebur3\  ''There  must  be  some  distinction  of 
classes.  Thej'  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  go  everywhere. 
And  who  is  yonder,  that  ladj^  with  the  two  boys  and  the  —  the 
ver}'  high  complexion  ?  "  Lad}'  Kicklebury  asks. 

''  That  is  a  Russian  princess  :  and  one  of  those  little  boys, 
the  one  who  is  sucking  a  piece  of  barley-sugar,  plays,  and  wins 
five  hundred  louis  in  a  night." 

''  Kicklebur}^  you  do  not  play?  Promise  3'our  mother  you 
do  not !  Swear  to  me  at  this  moment  you  do  not !  Where  are 
the  horrid  gambling-rooms?  There,  at  that  door  where  the 
crowd  is?    Of  course,  1  shall  never  enter  them  !  " 

Of  course  not,  ma'am,"  says  the  affectionate  son  on  duty. 
"And  if  3'ou  come  to  the  balls  here,  please  don't  let  Fanny 
dance  with  anybody,  until  you  ask  me  first :  3^ou  understand. 
Fann}',  you  will  take  care." 

''  Yes,  Tom,"  says  Fanny. 

"What,  Hicks,  how  are  you,  old  fellow?  How  is  Platts? 
Who  would  have  thought  of  you  being  here?  When  did  you 
come  ?  " 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  travelling  with  Lady  Kicklebury  and 
her  daughters  in  the  I.ondon  boat  to  Antwerp,"  says  Cai)tain 
Hicks,  makiug  the  ladies  a  bow.  Kicklebury  introduces  Hicks 
to  his  mother  as  his  most  particular  friend  —  and  he  whispers 
Fanny  that  "he's  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  lived.  Hicks  is." 
Fanny  says,  "He  sck'uis  very  kind  and  good-natured:  and  — 
and  Captain  Hicks  waltzes  very  well,"  says  Miss  Fanny  with  a 
blush,  "  and  I  hoi)e  I  may  have  him  for  one  of  my  partners." 

What  a  r>ab(;l  of  tongues  it  is  in  this  splendid  hall  with 
gl(;aming  mar])le  pillars  :  a  ceaseless  rushing  whisper  as  if  the 
band  were  playing  its  music  by  a  waterfall !    The  British 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


125 


lawyers  are  all  got  together,  and  my  friend  Lankin,  on  his 
arrival,  has  been  carried  off  by  his  brother  Serjeants,  and 
becomes  once  more  a  lawyer.  Well,  brother  Lankin,"  says 
old  Sir  Thomas  Minos,  with  his  venerable  kind  face,  ''you 
have  got  your  rule,  I  see."  And  they  fall  into  talk  about  their 
law  matters,  as  they  always  do,  wherever  they  are  —  at  a  club, 
in  a  ball-room,  at  a  dinner-table,  at  the  top  of  Chimborazo. 
Some  of  the  young  barristers  appear  as  bucks  with  uncommon 
splendor,  and  dance  and  hang  about  the  ladies.  But  they 
have  not  the  easy  languid  deuce-may-care  air  of  the  young 
bucks  of  the  Hicks  and  Kicklebury  school  —  they  can't  put 
on  their  clothes  with  that  happy  negligence  ;  their  neck-cloths 
sit  quite  differently  on  them,  somehow  :  they  become  very  hot 
when  they  dance,  and  yet  do  not  spin  round  near  so  quickly  as 
those  London  youths,  who  have  acquired  experience  in  cor  pure 
vili^  and  learned  to  dance  easily  by  the  practice  of  a  thousand 
casinos. 

Above  the  Babel  tongues  and  the  clang  of  the  music,  as 
3^ou  listen  in  the  great  saloon,  you  hear  from  a  neighboring 
room  a  certain  sharp  ringing  clatter,  and  a  hard  clear  voice 
cries  out,  "  Zero  rouge,"  or  "  Trente-cinq  noir.  Impair  et 
passe."  And  then  there  is  a  pause  of  a  couple  of  minutes, 
and  then  the  voice  says,  "  Faites  le  jeu.  Messieurs.  Le  jeu 
est  fait,  rien  ne  va  plus"  —  and  the  sharp  ringing  clatter  re- 
commences. You  know  what  that  room  is?  That  is  Hades. 
That  is  where  the  spirited  proprietor  of  the  establishment  takes 
his  toll,  and  thither  the  people  go  who  pa}'  the  mone}'  which 
supports  the  spirited  proprietor  of  this  fine  palace  and  gardens. 
Let  us  enter  Hades,  and  see  what  is  going  on  there. 

Hades  is  not  an  unpleasant  place.  Most  of  the  people  look 
rather  cheerful.  You  don't  see  an}'  frantic  gamblers  gnashing 
their  teeth  or  dashing  down  their  last  stakes.  The  winners 
have  the  most  anxious  faces  ;  or  the  poor  shabby  fellows  who 
have  got  systems,  and  are  pricking  down  the  alternations  of 
red  and  black  on  cards,  and  don't  seem  to  be  playing  at  all. 
On  fete  da3's  the  countr}^  people  come  in,  men  and  women,  to 
gamble  ;  and  they  seem  to  be  excited  as  they  put  down  their 
hard-earned  florins  with  trembling  rough  hands,  and  watch 
the  turn  of  the  wheel.  But  what  you  call  the  good  company 
is  very  quiet  and  eas3^  A  man  loses  his  mass  of  gold,  and 
gets  up  and  walks  off,  without  an}'  particular  mark  of  despair. 
The  only  gentleman  whom  I  saw  at  Xoirbourg  who  seemed 
really  affected  was  a  certain  Count  de  Mustacheff,  a  Russian 
of  enormous  wealth,  who  clenched  his  fists,  beat  his  breast, 


126 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


cursed  his  stars,  and  absolutely  cried  with  grief :  not  for  losing 
nione}^  but  for  neglecting  to  win  and  pla}^  upon  a  coup  de  vingt^ 
a  series  in  which  the  red  was  turned  up  twenty  times  running : 
which  series,  had  he  but  played,  it  is  clear  that  he  might  have 
broken  M.  Lenoir's  bank,  and  shut  up  the  gambling-house,  and 
doubled  his  own  fortune  —  when  he  would  have  been  no  hap- 
pier, and  all  the  balls  and  music,  all  the  newspaper-rooms  and 
parks,  all  the  feasting  and  pleasure  of  this  delightful  Rouget- 
noirbourg  would  have  been  at  an  end. 

For  though  he  is  a  wicked  gambling  prince,  Lenoir,  he  is 
beloved  in  all  these  regions  ;  his  establishment  gives  life  to  the 
town,  to  the  lodging-house  and  hotel-keepers,  to  the  milliners 
and  hackney-coachmen,  to  the  letters  of  horse-flesh,  to  the 
huntsmen  and  gardes-de-chasse ;  to  all  these  honest  fiddlers 
and  trumpeters  who  plaj^  so  delectabl^^  Were  Lenoir's  bank 
to  break,  the  whole  little  city  would  shut  up ;  and  all  the 
Noirbourgers  wish  him  prosperity,  and  benefit  by  his  good 
fortune. 

Three  ^^ears  since  the  Noirbourgers  underwent  a  mighty 
panic.  There  came,  at  a  time  when  the  chief  Lenoir  was  at 
Paris,  and  the  reins  of  government  were  in  the  hands  of  his 
younger  brother,  a  compau}^  of  adventurers  from  Belgium,  with 
a  capital  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  an  infallible 
SA'stem  for  playing  rouge  et  noir^  and  thc}^  boldly  challenged 
the  bank  of  Lenoir,  and  sat  down  before  his  croupiers,  and 
defied  him.  They  called  themselves  in  their  pride  the  Con- 
trebanque*de  Noirbourg :  they  had  their  croupiers  and  punters, 
even  as  Lenoir  had  his  :  they  had  their  rouleaux  of  Napoleons, 
stamped  with  their  Contrebanquish  seal :  —  and  they  began  to 
play. 

As  when  two  mighty  giants  step  out  of  a  host  and  engage, 
the  armies  stand  still  in  expectation,  and  the  puny  privates 
and  commonalty  remain  quiet  to  witness  the  combat  of  the 
tremendous  champions  of  the  war :  so  it  is  said  that  when 
the  Contrel)anque  arrived,  and  ranged  itself  before  the  officers 
of  Lenoir  —  rouleau  to  rouleau,  bank-note  to  bank-note,  war 
for  war,  controlment  for  controlment  —  all  the  minor  punters 
and  gamblers  ceased  their  i)ed(lling  play,  and  looked  on  in 
silence,  round  the  verdant  pkiin  where  the  great  combat  was 
to  be  decided. 

Not  used  to  the  vast  operations  of  war,  like  his  elder 
brotlu^r,  Lenoir  junior,  the  lieutenant,  telegraphed  to  liis  absent 
cliief  tlui  news  of  th(;  mighty  enemy  who  had  come  down  upon 
him,  asked  for  instructions,  and  in  the  meanwhile  met  the  foe- 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


127 


man  like  a  man.  The  Contrebanque  of  Noirbourg  gallantly 
opened  its  campaign. 

The  Lenoir  bank  was  defeated  day  after  day,  in  numerous 
savage  encounters.  The  tactics  of  the  Contrebanquist  generals 
were  irresistible :  their  infernal  system  bore  down  ever^lhing 
before  it,  and  they  marched  onwards  terrible  and  victorious 
as  the  Macedonian  phalanx.  Tuesday,  a  loss  of  eighteen 
thousand  florins  ;  Wednesdaj^,  a  loss  of  twelve  thousand  flor- 
ins ;  Thursday,  a  loss  of  forty  thousand  flonns  :  night  after 
night,  the  young  Lenoir  had  to  chronicle  these  disasters  in 
melanchol}'  despatches  to  his  chief.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Night  after  night,  the  Noirbourgers  retired  home  doubtful  and 
disconsolate ;  the  horrid  Contrebanquists  gathered  up  their 
spoils  and  retired  to  a  victorious  supper.  How  was  it  to 
end? 

Far  away  at  Paris,  the  elder  Lenoir  answered  these  appeals 
of  his  brother  b}^  sending  reinforcements  of  money.  Chests  of 
gold  arrived  for  the  bank.  The  Prince  of  Noirbourg  bade  his 
beleaguered  lieutenant  not  to  lose  heart :  he  himself  never  for 
a  moment  blenched  in  this  trying  hour  of  danger. 

The  Contrebanquists  still  went  on  victorious.  Rouleau  after 
rouleau  fell  into  their  possession.  At  last  the  news  came : 
The  Emperor  has  joined  the  Grand  Arm3\  Lenoir  himself 
had  arrived  from  Paris,  and  was  once  more  among  his  chil- 
dren, his  people.  The  daily  combats  continued :  and  still, 
still,  though  Napoleon  was  with  the  Eagles,  the  abominable 
Contrebanquists  fought  and  conquered.  And  far  greater  than 
Napoleon,  as  great  as  Ney  himself  under  disaster,  the  bold 
Lenoir  never  lost  courage,  never  lost  good-humor,  was  aflable, 
was  gentle,  was  careful  of  his  subjects'  pleasures  and  comforts, 
and  met  an  adverse  fortune  with  a  dauntless  smilg. 

With  a  devilish  forbearance  and  coolness,  the  atrocious 
Contrebanque  —  like  Polyphemus,  who  onlj'  took  one  of  his 
prisoners  out  of  the  cave  at  a  time,  and  so  ate  them  off"  at 
leisure  —  the  horrid  Contrebanquists,  I  say,  contented  them- 
selves with  winning  so  much  before  dinner,  and  s@  much 
before  supper  —  say  five  thousand  florins  for  each  meal.  They 
played  and  won  at  noon  :  they  played  and  won  at  eventide. 
They  of  Noirbourg  went  home  sadly  every  night :  the  invader 
was  carrying  all  before  him.  What  must  have  been  the  feel- 
ings of  the  great  Lenoir?  What  were  those  of  Washington 
before  Trenton,  when  it  seemed  all  up  with  the  cause  of 
American  Independence  ;  what  those  of  the  virgin  EUzabeth, 
when  the  Armada  was  signalled ;  what  those  of  Miltiades, 


128 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


when  the  multitudinous  Persian  bore  down  on  Marathon? 
The  people  looked  on  at  the  combat,  and  saw  their  chieftain 
stricken,  bleeding,  fallen,  fighting  still. 

At  last  there  came  one  day  when  the  Contrebanquists  had 
won  their  allotted  sum,  and  were  about  to  leave  the  tables 
which  they  had  swept  so  often.  But  pride  and  lust  of  gold 
had  seized  upon  the  heart  of  one  of  their  vainglorious  chief- 
tains ;  and  he  said,  Do  not  let  us  go  3^et  —  let  us  win  a  thou- 
sand florins  more  !  "  So  they  stayed  and  set  the  bank  jet  a 
thousand  florins.  The  Noirbourgers  looked  on,  and  trembled 
for  their  prince. 

Some  three  hours  afterwards  —  a  shout,  a  mighty  shout  was 
heard  around  the  windows  of  that  palace :  the  town,  the  gar- 
dens, the  hills,  the  fountains  took  up  and  echoed  the  jubilant 
acclaim.  Hip,  hip,  hip,  hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah!  People 
rushed  into  each  other's  arms ;  men,  women,  and  children 
cried  and  kissed  each  other.  Croupiers,  who  never  feel,  who 
never  tremble,  who  never  care  whether  black  wins  or  red  loses, 
took  snuft*  from  each  other's  boxes,  and  laughed  for  jo}^ ;  and 
Lenoir  the  dauntless,  the  invincible  Lenoir,  wiped  the  drops 
of  perspiration  from  his  calm  forehead,  as  he  drew  the  enemy's 
last  rouleau  into  his  till.  He  had  conquered.  The  Persians 
were  beaten,  horse  and  foot  —  the  Armada  had  gone  down. 
Since  Wellington  shut  up  his  telescope  at  Waterloo,  when  the 
Prussians  came  charging  on  to  the  field,  and  the  Guard  broke 
and  fled,  there  had  been  no  such  heroic  endurance,  such  utter 
defeat,  such  signal  and  crowning  victory.  Vive  Lenoir !  I 
am  a  Lenoirite.  I  have  read  his  newspapers,  strolled  in  his 
gardens,  listened  to  his  music,  and  rejoice  in  his  victory :  I 
am  glad  he  beat  those  Contrebanquists.  Dissipati  sunt.  The 
game  is  up  with  them. 

The  instances  of  this  man's  magnanimity  are  numerous,  and 
worth}^  of  Alexander  the  Great,  or  Harry  the  Fifth,  or  Robin 
Hood.  Most  gentle  is  he,  and  thoughtful  to  the  poor,  and 
merciful  to  the  vanquished.  When  Jeremy  Diddler,  who  had 
lost  twent}'  pounds  at  his  table,  lay  in  inglorious  pawn  at  his 
inn  —  when  O'Toole  coukl  not  leave  Noirbourg  until  he  had 
received  his  remittances  from  Irehind  —  the  noble  Lenoir  paid 
Diddk^r's  inn  ])ill,  advanced  O'Toole  monc^y  upon  his  well- 
known  signature,  franked  both  of  them  back  to  their  native 
country  again  ;  and  has  never,  wonderful  to  state,  been  paid 
from  that  (hiy  to  tliis.  If  you  will  go  play  at  liis  tabk^,  you 
may  ;  l)ut  n(jbod3'  forces  30U.    If  3'ou  lose,  pay  with  a  cheerful 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


129 


heart.  Dulce  est  desipere  in  loco.  This  is  not  a  treatise  of 
morals.  Friar  Tuck  was  not  an  exemplary  ecclesiastic,  nor 
Robin  Hood  a  model  man  ;  but  he  was  a  joll}^  outlaw  ;  and  I 
dare  say  the  Sheriff  of  Nottingham,  whose  money  he  took, 
rather  rehshed  his  feast  at  Robin's  green  table. 

And  if  you  lose,  worthy  friend,  as  possibly  you  will,  at  Le- 
noir's pretty  games,  console  yourself  by  thinking  that  it  is  much 
better  for  you  in  the  end  that  3'ou  should  lose,  than  that  3'ou 
should  win.  Let  me,  for  my  part,  make  a  clean  breast  of  it, 
and  own  that  your  humble  servant  did,  on  one  occasion,  win  a 
score  of  Napoleons  ;  and  beginning  with  a  sum  of  no  less  than 
five  shillings.  But  until  I  had  lost  them  again  I  was  so  fever- 
ish, excited,  and  uneasy,  that  I  had  neither  delectation  in  read- 
ing the  most  exciting  French  novels,  nor  pleasure  in  seeing 
prett}^  landscapes,  nor  appetite  for  dinner.  The  moment,  how- 
ever, that  graceless  money  was  gone,  equanimity  was  restored  : 
Paul  Feval  and  Eugene  Sue  began  to  be  terrifically  interesting 
again ;  and  the  dinners  at  Noirbourg,  though  by  no  means  good 
culinary  specimens,  were  perfectly  suflficient  for  my  eas}^  and 
tranquil  mind.  Lankin,  who  plaj^ed  onlj^  a  lawyer's  rubbea'  at 
whist,  marked  the  salutary  change  in  his  friend's  condition  ; 
and,  for  my  part,  I  hope  and  pra}^  that  every  honest  reader  of 
this  volume  who  plays  at  M.  Lenoir's  table  will  lose  ever}' 
shilling  of  his  winnings  before  he  goes  away.  Where  are  the 
gamblers  whom  we  have  read  of?  Where  are  the  card-players 
whom  we  can  remember  in  our  early  days  ?  At  one  time  almost 
every  gentleman  played,  and  there  were  whist-tables  in  ever}' 
lady's  drawing-room.  But  trumps  are  going  out  along  with 
numbers  of  old-world  institutions;  and,  before  very  long,  a 
blackleg  will  be  as  rare  an  animal  as  a  knight  in  armor. 

There  was  a  little  dwarfish,  abortive,  counter  bank  set  up  at 
Noirbourg  this  year  :  but  the  gentlemen  soon  disagreed  among 
themselves  ;  and,  let  us  hope,  were  cut  off  in  detail  by  the  great 
Lenoir.  And  there  was  a  Frenchman  at  our  inn  who  had  won 
two  Napoleons  per  day  for  the  last  six  weeks,  and  who  had  an 
infallible  system,  whereof  he  kindly  offered  to  communicate  the 
secret  for  the  consideration  of  a  hundred  louis  ;  but  there  came 
one  fatal  night  when  the  poor  Frenchman's  system  could  not 
make  head  against  fortune,  and  her  wheel  went  over  him,  and 
he  disappeared  utterly. 

With  the  early  morning  everybody  rises  and  makes  his  or 
her  appearance  at  the  Springs,  where  they  partake  of  water 
with  a  wonderful  energy  and  perseverance.    They  say  that 

9 


130 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


people  get  to  be  fond  of  this  water  at  last ;  *as  to  what  tastes 
cannot  men  accustom  themselves  ?  I  drank  a  couple  of  glasses 
of  an  abominable  sort  of  feeble  salts  in  a  state  of  very  gentle 
effervescence  ;  but,  though  there  was  a  very  prett}^  girl  who 
served  it,  the  drink  was  abominable,  and  it  was  a  marvel  to  see 
the  various  topers,  who  tossed  off  glass  after  glass,  which  the 
fair-haired  little  Hebe  dehvered  sparkling  from  the  well. 

Seeing  my  wry  faces,  old  Captain  Carver  expostulated,  with 
a  jolly  twinkle  of  his  e3^e,  as  he  absorbed  the  contents  of  a 
sparkling  crystal  beaker.  ''Pooh!  take  another  glass,  sir: 
3^ou'll  like  it  better  and  better  every  ^ay.  It  refreshes  3^ou,  sir  : 
it  fortifies  you:  and  as  for  liking  it  —  gad!  I  remember  the 
time  when  I  didn't  like  claret.  Times  are  altered  now,  ha  !  ha  ! 
Mrs.  Fantail,  madam,  I  wish  3^ou  a  very  good  morning.  How 
is  Fantail?  He  don't  come  to  drink  the  water :  so  much  the 
worse  for  him." 

To  see  Mrs.  Fantail  of  an  evening  is  to  behold  a  magnificent 
sight.  She  ought  to  be  shown  in  a  room  by  herself;  and,  in- 
deed, would  occupy  a  moderate-sized  one  with  her  person  and 
adornments.  Marie  Antoinette's  hoop  is  not  bigger  than 
Mrs.  Fantail's  flounces.  Twenty  men  taking  hands  (and,  in- 
deed, she  likes  to  have  at  least  that  number  about  her)  would 
scarcel}'  encompass  her.  Her  chestnut  ringlets  spread  out  in  a 
halo  round  her  face  :  she  must  want  two  or  three  coiffeurs  to 
arrange  that  prodigious  head-dress  ;  and  then,  when  it  is  done, 
how  can  she  endure  that  extraordinarj^  gown?  Her  travelling- 
bandboxes  must  be  as  large  as  omnibuses. 

But  see  Mrs.  Fantail  in  the  morning,  having  taken  in  all 
sail :  the  chestnut  curls  have  disappeared,  and  two  limp  bands 
of  brown  hair  border  her  lean,  sallow  face  ;  3'ou  see  before  you 
an  ascetic,  a  nun,  a  woman  worn  by  mortifications,  of  a  sad 
yellow  aspect,  drinking  salts  at  the  well :  a  vision  quite  differ- 
ent from  that  rapturous  one  of  the  previous  night's  ball-room. 
No  wonder  Fantail  does  not  come  out  of  a  morning ;  he  had 
rather  not  see  such  a  Rebecca  at  the  well. 

Lady  Kicklebury  came  for  some  morniugs  pretty  regularly, 
and  was  very  civil  to  Mr.  Leader,  and  made  Miss  Fanny  drink 
when  his  lordship  took  a  cup,  and  asked  Lord  Talboys  and  his 
tutor  to  dinner.  l>ut  the  tutor  came,  and,  blushing,  brought  an 
excuse  from  Talboys  ;  and  poor  Milliken  had  not  a  very  pleas- 
ant evening  after  Mr.  l^aring  Leader  rose  to  go  away. 

I*ut  though  the  water  was  not  good  the  sun  was  bright,  tlie 
music  cheery,  tlui  landscape  fresh  and  [)leasant,  and  it  was  al- 
ways amusing  to  see  the  vast  varieties  of  our  human  species 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


131 


that  congregated  at  the  Springs,  and  trudged  up  and  down  the 
green  allees.  One  of  the  gambling  conspirators  of  the  roulette- 
table  it  was  good  to  see  here,  in  his  private  character,  drinking 
down  pints  of  salts  like  any  other  sinner,  having  a  homely  wife 
on  his  arm,  and  between  them  a  poodle  on  which  they  lavished 
their  tenderest  alTection.  You  see  these  people  care  for  other 
things  besides  trumps  ;  and  are  not  alwaj^s  thinking  about  bla(;k 
and  red  :  —  as  even  ogres  are  represented,  in  their  histories,  as 
of  cruel  natures,  and  licentious  appetites,  and,  to  be  sure,  fond 
of  eating  men  and  women  ;  but  yet  it  appears  that  their  wives 
often  respected  them,  and  they  had  a  sincere  liking  for  their 
own  hideous  children.  And,  besides  the  card-players,  there 
are  band-play^ers  :  every  now  and  then  a  fiddle  from  the  neigh- 
boring orchestra,  or  a  disorganized  bassoon,  will  step  down 
and  drink  a  glass  of  the  water,  and  jump  back  into  his  rank 
again . 

Then  come  the  burly  troops  of  English,  the  honest  lawyers, 
merchants,  and  gentlemen,  with  their  wives  and  buxom  daugh- 
ters, and  stout  sons,  that,  almost  grown  to  the  height  of 
manhood,  are  hoys  still,  with  rough  wide-awake  hats  and 
shooting-jackets,  full  of  lark  and  laughter.  A  French  boy  of 
sixteen  has  had  des  passions  ere  that  time,  very  likel}^,  and  is 
already  particular  in  his  dress,  an  ogler  of  the  women,  and  pre- 
paring to  kill.  Adolphe  says  to  Alphonse — ''Lavoila  cette 
charmante  Miss  Fanni,  la  belle  Kickleburi !  je  te  donue  ma 
parole,  elle  est  fraiche  comme  une  rose  !  la  crois-tu  riche,  Al- 
phonse?" Je  me  range,  mon  ami,  vois-tu?  La  vie  de  gar- 
9on  me  pese.    Ma  parole  d'honneur !  je  me  range." 

And  he  gives  Miss  Fanny  a  killing  bow,  and  a  glance  which 
seems  to  say,  "  Sweet  Anglaise,  I  know  that  I  have  won  vour 
heart." 

Then  besides  the  3^oung  French  buck,  whom  we  will  willingly 
suppose  harmless,  you  see  specimens  of  the  French  raff,  who 
goes  aux  eaux:  gambler,  speculator,  sentimentalist,  duellist, 
travelling  with  madame  his  wife,  at  whom  other  raffs  nod  and 
wink  familiarly.  This  rogue  is  much  more  picturesque  and 
civilized  than  the  similar  person  in  our  own  country :  whose 
manners  betray  the  stable  ;  who  never  reads  anything  but  BeWs 
Life  ;  and  who  is  much  more  at  ease  in  conversing  with  a  groom 
than  with  his  employer.  Here  come  Mr.  Boucher  and  Mr. 
Fowler :  better  to  gamble  for  a  score  of  nights  with  honest 
Monsieur  Lenoir,  than  to  sit  down  in  private  once  with  those 
gentlemen.  But  we  have  said  that  their  profession  is  going 
(}own,  and  the  number  of  Greeks  daily  diminishes.    They  are 


132 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


travelling  with  Mr.  Bloundell,  who  was  a  gentleman  once,  and 
still  retains  about  him  some  faint  odor  of  that  time  of  bloom  ; 
and  Bloundell  has  put  himself  on  young  Lord  Talboys,  and  is 
trying  to  get  some  money  out  of  that  young  nobleman.  But 
the  English  youth  of  the  present  day  is  a  wide-awake  youth, 
and  male  or  female  artifices  are  expended  prett}^  much  in  vain 
on  our  young  travelling  companion. 

Who  come  ^^onder?  Those  two  fellows  whom  we  met  at  the 
table-d'hote  at  the  Hotel  de  Russie  "  the  other  da}' :  gentlemen 
of  splendid  costume,  and  3'et  questionable  appearances,  the 
eldest  of  whom  called  for  the  list  of  wines,  and  cried  out  loud 
enough  for  all  the  company  to  hear,  Lafite,  six  florins.  'Arry, 
shall  we  have  some  Lafite?  You  don't  mind?  No  more  do  I 
then.  I  sa3%  waiter,  let's  'ave  a  pint  of  ordinaire."  Truth  is 
stranger  than  fiction.  You  good  fellow,  wherever  you  are,  wliy 
did  you  ask  'Arry  to  'ave  that  pint  of  ordinaire  in  the  presence 
of  your  obedient  servant?  How  could  he  do  otherwise  than 
chronicle  the  speech? 

And  see  :  here  is  a  lady  who  is  doubl}'  desirous  to  be  put 
into  print,  who  encourages  it  and  invites  it.  It  appears  that 
on  Lankin's  first  arrival  at  Noirbourg  with  his  travelling  com- 
panion, a  certain  sensation  was  created  in  the  little  society 
by  the  rumor  that  an  emissarj'  of  the  famous  Mr.  Punch  had 
arrived  in  the  place  ;  and,  as  we  were  smoking  the  cigar  of 
peace  on  the  lawn  after  dinner,  looking  on  at  the  benevolent, 
pretty  scene,  Mrs.  Hopkins,  Miss  Hopkins,  and  the  excellent 
head  of  the  family,  walked  many  times  up  and  down  before 
us ;  eyed  us  severely  face  to  face,  and  then  walking  away, 
shot  back  fierce  glances  at  us  in  the  Parthian  manner ;  and 
at  length,  at  the  third  or  fourth  turn,  and  when  we  could  not 
but  overhear  so  fine  a  voice,  Mrs.  Hopkins  looks  at  us  steadil}^, 
and  says,  ''I'm  sure  he  may  put  me  in  if  he  likes:  I  don't 
mind." 

Oh,  ma'am  !  Oh,  Mrs.  Hopkins  !  how  should  a  gentleman, 
who  had  never  seen  your  face  or  heard  of  you  before,  want  to 
put  1/ou  in?  What  interest  can  the  British  public  have  in  you? 
But  as  you  wish  it,  and  court  publicity,  here  you  are.  Good 
luck  go  with  you,  madam.  I  have  forgotten  your  real  name, 
and  should  not  know  you  again  if  I  saw  you.  But  why  could 
not  you  leave  a  man  to  take  his  coffee  and  smoke  his  pipe  in 
quiet? 

We  could  never  have  time  to  make  a  catalogue  of  all  the 
portraits  that  figure  in  this  motley  gallery.  Among  the  travel- 
lers in  Europe,  who  are  daily  multiplying  in  numbers  and  in- 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


133 


creasing  in  splendor,  the  United  States'  dandies  must  not  be 
omitted.  They  seem  as  rich  as  the  Milor  of  old  days  ;  the}^ 
crowd  in  European  capitals  ;  the}"  have  elbowed  out  people  of 
tlie  old  country  from  many  hotels  which  we  used  to  frequent ; 
the}^  adopt  the  French  fashion  of  dressing  rather  than  ours, 
and  they  grow  handsomer  beards  than  English  beards  :  as  some 
plants  are  found  to  flourish  and  shoot  up  prodigiousl}^  when 
introduced  into  a  new  soil.  The  ladies  seem  to  be  as  well 
dressed  as  Parisians,  and  as  handsome ;  though  somewhat 
more  delicate,  perhaps,  than  the  native  English  roses.  They 
drive  the  finest  carriages,  they  keep  the  grandest  houses,  the}' 
frequent  the  grandest  company  —  and,  in  a  word,  the  Broad- 
way Swell  has  now  taken  his  station  and  asserted  his  dignity 
amongst  the  grandees  of  Europe.  He  is  fond  of  asking  Count 
Reineck  to  dinner,  and  Grafinn  Laura  will  condescend  to  look 
kindly  upon  a  gentleman  who  has  miUions  of  dollars.  Here 
comes  a  pair  of  New  Yorkers.  Behold  their  elegant  curling 
beards,  their  velvet  coats,  their  delicate  primrose  gloves  and 
cambric  handkerchiefs,  and  the  aristocratic  beauty  of  their 
boots.  Why,  if  you  had  sixteen  quarterings,  you  could  not 
have  smaller  feet  than  those ;  and  if  you  were  descended 
from  a  line  of  kings  you  could  not  smoke  better  or  bigger 
cigars. 

Lady  Kicklebury  deigns  to  think  very  well  of  these  young 
men,  since  she  has  seen  them  in  the  company  of  grandees  and 
heard  how  rich  they  are.  Who  is  that  very  st}'lish-looking 
woman,  to  whom  Mr.  Washington  Walker  spoke  just  now?" 
she  asks  of  Kicklebury. 

Kicklebury  gives  a  twinkle  of  his  eye.  Oh,  that,  mothei' ! 
that  is  Madame  La  Princesse  de  Mogador  —  it's  a  Fi*ench 
title." 

"She  danced  last  night,  and  danced  exceedingly  well;  I 
remarked  her.  There's  a  very  high-bred  grace  about  the 
princess." 

"Yes,  exceedingly.  We'd  better  come  on,"  says  Kickle- 
bury, blushing  rather  as  he  returns  the  princess's  nod. 

It  is  wonderful  how  large  Kicklebury's  acquaintance  is.  He 
has  a  word  and  a  joke,  in  the  best  German  he  can  muster,  for 
everybody  —  for  the  high  well-born  lady,  as  for  the  German 
peasant  maiden,  "or  the  pretty  little  washerwoman,  who  comes 
full  sail  down  the  streets,  a  basket  on  her  head  and  one  of 
Mrs.  Fan  tail's  wonderful  gowns  swelling  on  each  arm.  As  we 
were  going  to  the  Scliloss-Garten  I  caught  a  sight  of  the  rogue's 
grinning  face  yesterday,  close  at  little  Gretel's  ear  under  her 


134 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


basket ;  but  spying  out  his  mother  advancing,  he  dashed  down 
a  bj^street,  and  when  we  came  up  with  her,  Gretel  was  alone. 

One  but  seldom  sees  the  English  and  the  holiday  visitors  in 
the  ancient  parts  of  Noirbourg  ;  the}^  keep  to  the  streets  of  new 
buildings  and  garden  villas,  which  have  sprung  up  under  the 
magic  influence  of  M.  Lenoir,  under  the  white  towers  and 
gables  of  the  old  German  town.  The  Prince  of  Trente  et 
Quarante  has  quite  overcome  the  old  serene  sovereign  of  Noir- 
bourg, whom  one  cannot  help  fancying  a  prince  like  a  prince  in 
a  Christmas  pantomime  —  a  burlesque  prince  with  twopence- 
halfpenny  for  a  revenue,  jolly  and  irascible,  a  prime-minister- 
kicking  prince,  fed  upon  fabulous  plum-puddings  and  enormous 
pasteboard  joints,  by  cooks  and  valets  with  large  heads  which 
never  alter  their  grin.  Not  that  this  portrait  is  from  the  life. 
Perhaps  he  has  no  life.  Perhaps  there  is  no  prince  in  the  great 
white  tower,  that  we  see  for  miles  before  we  enter  the  little 
town.  Perhaps  he  has  been  mediatized,  and  sold  his  kingdom 
to  Monsieur  Lenoir.  Before  the  palace  of  Lenoir  there  is  a 
grove  of  orange-trees  in  tubs,  which  Lenoir  bought  from  another 
German  prince  ;  who  went  straightwav  and  lost  the  money, 
which  he  had  been  paid  for  his  wonderful  orange-trees,  over 
Lenoir's  green  tables,  at  his  roulette  and  trente-et-quarante. 
A  great  prince  is  Lenoir  in  his  way  ;  a  generous  and  magnani- 
mous prince.  You  may  come  to  his  feast  and  pay  nothing, 
unless  you  please.  You  may  walk  in  his  gardens,  sit  in  his 
palace,  and  read  his  thousand  newspapers.  You  ma}^  go  and 
play  at  whist  in  his  small  drawing-rooms,  or  dance  and  hear 
concerts  in  his  grand  saloon  —  and  there  is  not  a  penny  to  pay. 
His  fiddlers  and  trumpeters  begin  trumpeting  and  fiddling  for 
you  at  the  earl}^  dawn  —  they  twang  and  blow  for  you  in  the 
afternoon,  they  pipe  for  you  at  night  that  you  may  dance  — 
and  there  is  nothing  to  pay  —  Lenoir  pays  for  all.  Give  him 
but  the  chances  of  the  table,  and  he  will  do  all  this  and  more. 
It  is  better  to  live  und(U'  Prince  Lenoir  than  a  fabulous  old 
German  Durchlaucht  whose  cavalrv  ride  wicker  horses  with 
petticoats,  and  wliose  prime  minister  has  a  great  pasteboard 
head.    Vive  le  Prince  Lenoir! 

'I'here  is  a  grotesque  old  carved  gate  to  the  palace  of  tUo 
Durchlaucht,  fi'om  which  you  could  ex[)ect  none  but  a  panto- 
mime procession  to  pass.  The  place  looks  aslee}) ;  the  courts 
are  grass-gi-o\vn  and  deserted.  Is  the  Sleeping  Beauty  lying 
yonrler,  in  the  great  white  tower?  What  is  the  little  army  about? 
It  seimis  a  shnm  army  :  a  sort  of  grotesque  military.  The  only 
charge  oi'  inHuitry  was  this  :  one  day  when  passing  through  the 


Charge  of  Noirbourg. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


ON  THE  KHINE. 


135 


old  town,  looking  for  sketches.  Perhaps  thej^  become  croupiers 
at  niglit.  What  can  such  a  fabulous  prince  want  with  an^^thing 
but  a  sham  army  ?  My  favorite  walk  was  in  the  ancient  quar- 
ter of  the  town  —  the  dear  old  fabulous  quarter,  away  from  the 
noisy  actualities  of  life  and  Prince  Lenoir's  new  palace  —  out 
of  eye  and  earshot  of  the  dandies  and  the  ladies  in  their  grand 
best  clothes  at  the  promenades  —  and  the  rattling  whirl  of  the 
roulette  wheel  —  and  I  liked  to  wander  in  the  glum  old  gar- 
dens under  the  palace  wall,  and  imagine  the  Sleeping  Beauty 
within  there. 

Some  one  persuaded  us  one  da}^  to  break  the  charm,  and  see 
the  interior  of  the  palace.  I  am  sorry  we  did.  There  was  no 
Sleeping  Beauty  in  any  chamber  that  ^e  saw  ;  nor  an}^  fairies, 
good  or  malevolent.  There  was  a  shabby  set  of  clean  old 
rooms,  wdiich  looked  as  if  they  had  belonged  to  a  prince  hard 
put  to  it  for  money,  and  whose  tin  crow^n  jew^els  would  not 
fetch  more  than  King  Stephen's  pantaloons.  A  fugitive  prince, 
a  brave  prince  struggling  with  the  storms  of  fate,  a  prince  in 
exile  may  be  poor ;  but  a  prince  looking  out  of  his  own  palace 
windows  with  a  dressing-gown  out  at  elbows,  and  dunned  by 
his  subject  washerwoman  —  I  say  this  is  a  painful  object. 
When  they  get  shabby  the}^  ought  not  to  be  seen.  Don't  3^ou 
think  so,  Lady  Kicklebmy  ?  "  Lady  KickMuny  evidentl}'  had 
calculated  the  price  of  the  carpets  and  hangings,  and  set  them 
justl}^  down  at  a  low  figure.  These  German  princes,"  she 
said,  ''are  not  to  be  put  on  a  level  with  English  noblemen." 
'' Indeed,"  we  answer,  ''there  is  nothing  so  perfect  as  Eng- 
land :  nothing  so  good  as  our  aristocrac}^ ;  nothing  so  perfect 
as  our  institutions."    "  Nothing  !  nothing  I  "  says  Lady  K. 

An  English  princess  was  once  brought  to  reign  here  ;  and 
almost  the  whole  of  the  little  court  was  kept  upon  her  dowry. 
The  people  still  regard  her  name  fondly  ;  and  they  show,  at  the 
Schloss,  the  rooms  which  she  inhabited.  Her  old  books  are 
still  there  —  her  old  furniture  brought  from  home  ;  the  presents 
and  keepsakes  sent  b}^  her  family  are  as  the}'  w^ere  in  the  prin- 
cess's lifetiuie  :  the  very  clock  has  the  name  of  a  Windsor 
maker  on  its  face  ;  and  portraits  of  all  her  numerous  race 
decorate  the  homely  w^alls  of  the  now  empty  chambers.  There 
is  the  benighted  old  king,  his  beard  hanging  down  to  the  star 
on  his  breast ;  and  the  first  gentleman  of  Europe  —  so  lavish 
of  his  portrait  everywhere,  and  so  char}^  of  showing  his  royal 
person  —  all  the  stalwart  brothers  of  the  now  all  but  extinct 
generation  are  there  ;  their  quarrels  and  their  pleasures,  their 
glories  and  disgraces,  enemies,  flatterers,  detractors,  admirers 


136 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


—  all  now  buried.  Is  it  not  curious  to  think  tliat  the  King  of 
Trumps  now  virtually  reigns  in  this  place,  and  has  deposed  the 
other  d3'nasty? 

Very  early  one  morning,  wishing  to  have  a  sketch  of  the 
White  Tower  in  which  our  English  princess  had  been  impris- 
oned, I  repaired  to  the  gardens,  and  set  about  a  work,  wdiich, 
when  completed,  will  no  doubt  have  the  honor  of  a  place  on 
the  line  at  the  Exhibition  ;  and,  returning  homewards  to  break- 
fast, musing  upon  the  strange  fortunes  and  inhabitants  of  the 
queer,  fantastic,  melancholy  place,  behold,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  a  couple  of  persons,  a  male  and  a  female  ;  the  latter  of 
whom  wore  a  blue  hood  or  "  ngl.y,"  and  blushed  very  much  on 
seeing  me.  The  man  began  to  laugh  behind  his  moustaches, 
the  which  cachinnation  was  checked  by  an  appealing  look  from 
the  3^oung  lad}^ ;  and  he  held  out  his  hand  and  said,  How  d'ye 
do,  Titmarsh?   Been  out  making  some  cawickachaws,  hay?" 

I  need  not  sa}^  that  the  youth  before  me  was  the  heavy  dra- 
goon, and  that  the  maiden  w^as  Miss  Fanu}'  Kicklebury.  Or 
need  I  repeat  that,  in  the  course  of  my  blighted  being,  I  never 
loved  a  3'oung  gazelle  to  glad  me  with  its  dark  blue  e3'e,  but 
when  it  came  to,  &c.,  the  usual  disappointment  was  sure  to 
ensue  ?  There  is  no  necessity  wh3'  I  should  allude  to  m3'  feel- 
ings at  this  most  manifest  and  outrageous  case.  I  gave  a  with- 
ering glance  of  scorn  at  the  pair,  and,  with  a  stately  salutation, 
passed  on. 

Miss  Fanny  came  tripping  after  me.  She  held  out  her  little 
hand  with  such  a  pretty  look  of  deprecation,  that  I  could  not 
but  take  it;  and  she  said,  ''Mr.  Titmarsh,  if  you  please,  I 
want  to  speak  to  you,  if  you  please  ;  "  and,  choking  with  emo- 
tion, I  bade  her  speak  on. 

"My  brother  knows  all  about  it,  and,  highly  approves  of 
Captain  Ilicks,"  she  said,  with  her  head  lianging  down  ;  and 
oh,  he's  very  good  and  kind  :  and  I  know  him  7nnch  better 
now,  than  T  did  when  we  were  on  board  the  steamer." 

I  thought  how  I  had  mimicked  him,  and  what  an  ass  I  had 
been. 

''  And  you  know,"  she  continued,  that  you  have  quite  de- 
serted me  for  the  last  ten  days  for  your  great  acquaintances." 

''  I  have  l)een  to  play  chess  with  Lord  Kniglitsbridge,  who 
has  the  gout." 

"  And  to  drink  tea  constantly  with  that  American  lady  ;  and 
you  have  written  verses  in  her  album  ;  and  in  Lavinia's  album  ; 
and  as  I  saw  that  you  hnd  quite  thrown  me  off,  why  I  —  niy 
brother  approves  of  it  iiiglily  ;  and  —  niid  (\Mplain  Ilicks  likes 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


137 


you  very  much,  and  says  you  amuse  him  very  much  —  indeed  he 
does,"  says  the  arch  little  wretch.  And  then  she  added  a  post- 
script, as  it  were  to  her  letter,  which  contained,  as  usual,  the 
point  which  she  wished  to  urge  :  — 

''You  —  won't  break  it  to  mamma  —  will  3'ou  be  so  kind? 
My  brother  will  do  that "  —  and  I  promised  her  ;  and  she  ran 
away,  kissing  her  hand  to  me.  And  I  did  not  say  a  word 
to  Lady  Kicklebury,  and  not  above  a  thousand  people  at  Noir- 
bourg  knew  that  Miss  Kicklebury  and  Captain  Hicks  were 
engaged. 

And  now  let  those  who  are  too  confident  of  their  virtue 
listen  to  the  truthful  and  melancholy  story  which  I  have  to 
relate,  and  humble  themselves,  and  bear  in  mind  that  the  most 
perfect  among  us  are  occasionally  liable  to  fall.  Kicklebury 
was  not  perfect, — I  do  not  defend  his  practice.  He  spent  a 
great  deal  more  time  and  money  than  was  good  for  him  at 
M.  Lenoir's  gaming-table,  and  the  only  thing  which  the  young 
fellow  never  lost  was  his  good  humor.  If  Fortune  shook  her 
swift  wings  and  fled  awa}'  from  him,  he  laughed  at  the  retreating 
pinions,  and  you  saw  him  dancing  and  laughing  as  gayl}'  after 
losing  a  rouleau,  as  if  he  was  made  of  money,  and  reall}^  had 
the  five  thousand  a  year  which  his  mother  said  was  the  amount 
of  the  Kicklebury  property.  But  when  her  lady  ship's  jointure, 
and  the  j^oung  ladies'  allowances,  and  the  interest  of  mortgages 
were  paid  out  of  the  five  thousand  a  year,  I  grieve  to  say  that 
the  gallant  Kicklebury's  income  was  to  be  counted  by  hundreds 
and  not  b}^  thousands  ;  so  that,  for  any  young  lady  who  wants 
a  carriage  (and  who  can  live  without  one?)  our  friend  the 
baronet  is  not  a  desirable  specimen  of  bachelors.  Now, 
whether  it  was  that  the  presence  of  his  mamma  interrupted 
his  pleasures,  or  certain  of  her  ways  did  not  please  him,  or  that 
he  had  lost  all  his  money  at  roulette  and  could  attbixl  no  more, 
certain  it  is,  that  after  about  a  fortnight's  stay  at  Noirbourg,  he 
went  off  to  shoot  with  Count  Einhorn  in  Westphalia ;  he  and 
Hicks  parting  the  dearest  of  friends,  and  the  baronet  going  ofl^ 
on  a  pony  which  the  captain  lent  to  him.  Between  him  and 
MiUikin,  his  brother-in-law,  there  was  not  much  sympathy  :  for 
he  pronounced  Mr.  Milliken  to  be  what  is  called  a  muff;  and 
had  never  been  familiar  with  his  elder  sister  Lavinia,  of  whose 
poems  he  had  a  mean  opinion,  and  who  used  to  tease  and 
worry  him  by  teaching  him  French,  and  telHng  tales  of  him 
to  his  mamma,  when  he  was  a  schoolboy  home  for  the  holi- 
days.   Whereas,  between  the  baronet  and  Miss  Fanny  there 


138 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


seemed  to  be  the  closest  affection :  they  walked  together  everj'' 
mornmg  to  the  waters  ;  they  joked  and  laughed  with  each 
other  as  happily  as  possible.  Fanny  was  almost  read}^  to  tell 
fibs  to  screen  her  brother's  malpractices  from  her  mamma : 
she  cried  w^hen  she  heard  of  his  mishaps,  and  that  he  had 
lost  too  much  money  at  the  green  table  ;  and  when  Sir  Thomas 
went  awaj',  the  good  little  soul  brought  him  five  louis  ;  which 
was  all  the  money  she  had  :  for  3^ou  see  she  paid  her  mother 
handsomely  for  her  board ;  and  when  her  little  gloves  and 
milliner's  bills  were  settled  —  how  much  was  there  left  out  of 
two  hundred  a  year?  And  she  cried  when  she  heard  that 
Hicks  had  lent  Sir  Thomas  money,  and  went  up  and  said, 
''Thank  3^ou,  Captain  Hicks;"  and  shook  hands  with  the 
captain  so  eagerl\',  that  I  thought  he  was  a  lucky  fellow, 
who  had  a  father  a  wealthy  attorney  in  Bedford  Row.  Heigh- 
ho  !  I  saw  how  matters  were  going.  The  birds  must  sing  in 
the  spring-time,  and  the  flow^ers  bud. 

Mrs.  Milliken,  in  her  character  of  invalid,  took  the  advan- 
tage of  her  situation  to  have  her  husband  constantly  about 
her,  reading  to  her,  or  fetching  the  doctor  to  her,  or  watching 
her  whilst  she  was  dozing,  and  so  forth  ;  and  Lady  Kicklebury 
found  the  life  which  this  pair  led  rather  more  monotonous  than 
that  sort  of  existence  which  she  liked,  and  would  leave  them 
alone  with  J'anny  (Captain  Hicks  not  uncommonly  coming  in 
to  take  tea  with  the  three),  whilst  her  ladyship  went  to  the 
Redoute  to  hear  the  music,  or  read  the  papers,  or  play  a  game 
of  whist  there. 

The  newspaper-room  at  Noirbourg  is  next  to  the  roulette- 
room,  into  which  the  doors  are  always  open  ;  and  Lady  K. 
would  come,  with  newspaper  in  hand,  into  this  play-room, 
sometimes,  and  look  on  at  the  gamesters.  I  have  mentioned 
a  little  Russian  hoy,  a  little  imp  with  the  most  mischievous 
intelligence  and  good  humor  in  his  face,  who  was  suffered  by 
his  parents  to  play  as  much  as  lie  chose,  and  who  pulled  bon- 
bons out  of  one  pocket  and  Napoleons  out  of  the  other,  and 
seemed  to  have  quite  a  diabolical  luck  at  the  table. 

Lady  Kicklebury's  terror  and  interest  at  seeing  this  boy 
were  extreme.  She  watched  him  and  watched  him,  and  he 
seemed  always  to  win  ;  and  at  last  her  ladyship  put  down 
just  a  florin  —  only  just  one  floi'in  —  on  one  of  the  numbers  at 
roulette  which  the  little  Russian  im[)  was  ba(;king.  Number 
twenty-seven  came  up,  and  the  (croupiers  flung  over  three  gold 
pieces  and  live  florins  to  Lady  Kicklebury,  which  she  raked  up 
with  a  trembling  hand. 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


139 


She  did  not  play  an}-  more  that  night,  but  sat  in  the  play- 
room, pretending  to  read  the  Times  newspaper ;  but  you  could 
see  her  e3^e  peering  over  the  sheet,  and  always  fixed  on  tlie  little 
imp  of  a  Russian.  He  had  very  good  luck  that  night,  and  his 
winning  made  her  very  savage.  As  he  retired,  rolhng  his  gold 
pieces  into  his  pocket  and  sucking  his  barle3^-sugar,  she  glared 
after  him  with  angrj^  eyes  ;  and  went  home,  and  scolded  everj^- 
bod}^  and  had  no  sleep.  I  could  hear  her  scolding.  Our 
apartments  in  the  Tissiscli  House  overlooked  Lad}'  Kicklebury's 
suite  of  rooms  :  the  great  windows  were  open  in  the  autumn. 
Yes  ;  I  could  hear  her  scolding,  and  see  some  other  people 
sitting  whispering  in  the  embrasure,  or  looking  out  on  the 
harvest  moon. 

The  next  evening.  Lady  Kicklebury  shirked  away  from  the 
concert ;  and  I  saw  her  in  the  pla^^-room  again,  going  round 
and  round  the  table  ;  and,  lying  in  ambush  behind  the  Journal 
(Jes  Debats^  I  marked  how,  after  looking  stealthily  round,  m}' 
lady  whipped  apiece  of  money  under  the  croupier's  elbow,  and 
(there  having  been  no  coin  there  previously)  I  saw  a  florin  on 
the  Zero. 

She  lost  that,  and  walked  away.  Then  she  came  back  and 
put  down  two  florins  on  a  number,  and  lost  again,  and  became 
very  red  and  angry  ;  then  she  retreated,  and  came  back  a  third 
time,  and  a  seat  being  vacated  b}^  a  player,  Lad}'  Kicklebury 
sat  down  at  the  verdant  board.  Ah  me  !  She  had  a  prett}' 
good  evening,  and  carried  oflT  a  little  mone}'  again  that  night. 
The  next  da}'  was  Sunday  :  she  gave  two  florins  at  the  collec- 
tion at  church,  to  Fanny's  surprise  at  mamma's  liberality.  On 
this  night  of  course  there  was  no  play.  Her  ladyship  wrote 
letters,  and  read  a  sermon. 

Rut  the  next  night  she  was  back  at  the  table  ;  and  won  very 
plentifully,  until  the  httle  Russian  sprite  made  his  appearance, 
when  it  seemed  that  her  luck  changed.  She  began  to  bet  upon 
him,  and  the  young  Calmuck  lost  too.  Her  ladyship's  temper 
went  along  with  her  money  :  first  she  backed  the  Calmuck,  and 
then  she  played  against  him.  When  she  played  against  him, 
his  luck  turned  ;  and  he  began  straightway  to  win.  She  put 
on  more  and  more  money  as  she  lost :  her  winnings  went :  gold 
came  out 'of  secret  pockets.  She  had  but  a  florin  left  at  last, 
and  tried  it  on  a  number,  and  failed.  She  got  up  to  go  away. 
I  watched  her,  and  I  watched  Mr.  Justice  iEacus,  too,  who  put 
down  a  Napoleon  when  he  thought  nobody  was  looking. 

The  next  day  my  Lady  Kicklebury  walked  over  to  the 
money-changers,  where  she  changed  a  couple  of  circular  notes. 


140 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


She  was  at  the  table  that  night  again :  and  the  next  night,  and 
the  next  night,  and  the  next. 

By  about  the  fifth  day  she  was  Uke  a  wild  woman.  She 
scolded  so,  that  Hirsch,  the  courier,  said  he  should  retire  from 
monsieur's  service,  as  he  was  not  hired  by  Lady  Kicklebury : 
that  Bowman  gave  warning,  and  told  another  footi  ian  in  the 
building  that  he  wouldn't  stand  the  old  cat  no  longer,  blow 
him  if  he  would  :  that  the  maid  (who  was  a  Kickleburj^  girl) 
and  Faun}'  cried  :  and  that  Mrs.  Milliken's  maid.  Finch,  com- 
plained to  her  mistress,  who  ordered  her  husband  to  remon- 
strate wdth  her  mother.  Milliken  remonstrated  with  his  usual 
mildness,  and,  of  course,  was  routed  by  her  ladyship.  Mrs. 
Milliken  said,  ''Give  me  the  daggers,"  and  came  to  her  hus- 
band's rescue.  A  battle  ro^^al  ensued ;  the  scared  Milhken 
hangfng  about  his  blessed  Lavinia,  and  entreating  and  implor- 
ing her  to  be  calm.  Mrs.  Milliken  was  calm.  She  asserted 
her  dignit}^  as  mistress  of  her  own  family  :  as  controller  of  her 
own  household,  as  wife  of  her  adored  husband  ;  and  she  told 
her  mamma,  that  with  her  or  here  she  must  not  interfere  ;  that 
she  knew  her  dut}'  as  a  child :  but  that  she  also  knew  it  as 
a  wife,  as  a  —  The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  drowned,  as 
Milliken,  rushing  to  her,  called  her  his  soul's  angel,  his  adored 
blessing. 

Lady  Kicklebury  remarked  that  Shakspeare  was  very  right 
in  stating  how  much  sharper  than  a  thankless  tooth  it  is  to  have 
a  serpent  child. 

Mrs.  Milliken  said,  the  conversation  could  not  be  carried 
on  in  this  manner :  that  it  was  best  her  mamma  should  now 
know,  once  for  all,  that  the  way  in  which  she  assumed  the 
command  at  Pigeoncot  was  intolerable  ;  that  all  the  servants 
had  given  warning,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  they 
could  be  soothed  ;  and  that,  as  their  living  together  only  led  to 
quarrels  and  painful  recriminations  (the  calling  her,  after  her 
forbearance,  a  serprut  cJiild^  was  an  expression  which  she  would 
hope  to  forgive  and  forget,)  they  had  better  part. 

Lady  Kicklebury  wears  a  front,  and,  1  make  no  doubt,  a 
comphite  jasey  ;  or  she  certainly  would  have  let  down  her  back 
hair  at  this  minute,  so  overpowering  were  her  feelings,  and  so 
bitter  her  indignation  at  her  daughter's  black  ingratitude-  She 
intimated  some  of  her  sentiments,  by  ejaculatory  conjurations 
of  evil.  She  hoped  her  daughter  might  not  feel  what  ingratitude 
was  ;  that  she  might  nevc^r  have  children  to  turn  on  her  and 
bring  her  to  the  grave  with  grief. 

''Bring  me  to  the  grave  with  fiddlestick!"  Mrs.  Milliken 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


141 


said  with  some  asperity.  ''And,  as  we  are  going  to  part, 
mamma,  and  as  Horace  has  paid  everything  on  the  journey  as 
A  et,  and  we  liave  only  brought  a  very  few  circular  notes  with 
us,  perhaps  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  give  him  your  share 
of  the  travelling  expenses  —  for  you,  for  Fannj^  and  your  two 
servants  whom  you  would  bring  with  3'ou  :  and  the  man  has 
only  been  a  perfect  hindrance  and  great  useless  log,  and  our 
courier  has  had  to  do  everything.  Your  share  is  now  eighty-two 
pounds.'' 

Lady  Kicklebury  at  this  gave  three  screams,  so  loud  that 
even  the  resolute  Lavinia  stopped  in  her  speech.  Her  ladj- 
ship  looked  wildly:  ''Lavinia!  Horace!  Fanny  my  child," 
she  said,  "  come  here,  and  listen  to  your  mother's  shame." 

*'  What?"  cried  Horace,  aghast. 

"  1  am  ruined  !  1  am  a  beggar  !  Yes  ;  a  beggar.  I  have 
lost  all  —  all  at  yonder  dreadful  table." 

"  How  do  you  mean  all?    How  much  is  all?  "  asked  Horace. 

"  All  the  money  I  brought  with  me,  Horace.  I  intended  to 
have  paid  the  whole  expenses  of  the  journey  :  yours,  this  un- 
grateful child's  —  everything.  But,  a  week  ago,  having  seen 
a  lovely  baby's  lace  dress  at  the  lace-shop  ;  and —  and — won 
enough  at  wh-wh-whoo-ist  to  pa^^  for  it,  all  but  two-two  florins 
—  in  an  evil  moment  I  went  to  the  roulette-table  —  and  lost  — 
every  shilling :  and  now,  on  my  knees  before  3^ou,  I  confess  my 
shame." 

1  am  not  a  tragic  painter,  and  certainly  won't  attempt  to 
depict  this  harrowing  scene.  But  what  could  she  mean  by 
sajing  she  wished  to  pay  everjlhing?  She  had  but  two  twenty- 
pound  notes  :  and  how  she  was  to  have  paid  all  the  expenses 
of  the  tour  with  that  small  sum,  I  cannot  conjecture. 

The  confession,  however,  had  the  effect  of  moUifying  poor 
Milliken  and  his  wife  :  after  the  latter  had  learned  that  her 
mamma  had  no  money  at  all  at  her  London  bankers',  and  had 
overdrawn  her  account  there,  Lavinia  consented  that  Horace 
should  advance  her  fifty  pounds  upon  her  ladyship's  solemn 
promise  of  repayment. 

And  now  it  was  agreed  that  this  highly  respectable  lady 
should  return  to  England,  quick  as  she  might :  somewhat  sooner 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  public  did  ;  and  leave  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Horace  Milliken  behind  her,  as  the  waters  were  still  consid- 
ered highly  salutary  to  that  most  interesting  invalid.  And  to 
F.ngland  Lady  Kicklebury  went ;  taking  advantage  of  Lord 
Talboys'  return  thither  to  place  herself  under  his  lordship's 
protection ;  as  ^if  the  enormous  Bowman  was  not  protector 


142 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


sufficient  for  her  ladyship  ;  and  as  if  Captain  Hicks  would 
have  allowed  any  mortal  man,  any  German  student,  any  French 
tourist,  an}' Prussian  whiskerando,  to  do  a  harm  to  Miss  Fanny  ! 
For  though  Hicks  is  not  a  brilliant  or  poetical  genius,  I  am 
bound  to  sa}'  that  the  fellow  has  good  sense,  good  manners,  and 
a  good  heart ;  and  with  these  qualities,  a  competent  sum  of 
money,  and  a  pair  of  exceedingly  handsome  moustaches,  per- 
haps the  poor  little  Mrs.  Launcelot  Hicks  may  be  happy. 

No  accident  befell  Lad}'  Kicklebury  on  her  voj'age  home- 
wards :  but  she  got  one  more  lesson  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  which 
ma}'  serve  to  make  her  ladyship  more  cautious  for  the  future : 
for,  seeing  Madame  la  Princesse  de  Mogador  enter  into  a 
carriage  on  the  railway,  into  which  Lord  Talboys  followed, 
nothing  would  content  Lady  Kicklebury  but  to  rush  into  the 
carriage  after  this  noble  pair ;  and  the  vehicle  turned  out  to 
be  what  is  called  on  the  German  lines,  and  what  I  wish  were 
established  in  England,  the  Ranch  Coupe,  Having  seated 
himself  in  this  vehicle,  and  looked  rather  sulkily  at  my  lady. 
Lord  Talboys  began  to  smoke :  which,  as  the  son  of  an  English 
earl,  heir  to  many  thousands  per  annum.  Lady  Kicklebury 
permitted  him  to  do.  And  she  introduced  herself  to  Madame 
la  Princesse  de  Mogador,  mentioning  to  her  highness  that  she 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Madame  la  Princesse  at  Rouget- 
noirbourg;  that  she.  Lady  K.,  was  the  mother  of  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Kicklebury,  who  had  the  advantage  of  the  acquaintance 
of  Madame  la  Princesse ;  and  that  she  hoped  Madame  la  Prin- 
cesse had  enjoyed  her  stay  at  the  waters.  To  these  advances 
the  Princess  of  Mogador  returned  a  gracious  and  affable  salu- 
tation, exchanging  glances  of  pecuhar  meaning  with  two  highly 
respectable  bearded  gentlemen  who  travelled  in  her  suite  ;  and, 
when  asked  by  milady  whereabouts  her  highness's  residence 
was  at  Paris,  said  that*  her  hotel  was  in  the  Rue  Notre  Dame 
de.  Lorettc  :  whei'c  Lady  Kicklebury  hoped  to  have  the  honor 
of  waiting  upon  Madame  la  Princesse  de  Mogador. 

P>iit  when  one  of  the  l)earded  gentlemen  called  the  princess 
by  the  faniiliar  name  of  Filine,  and  the  other  said,  Veux-tu 
fiimer,  Mogador?"  and  the  pi'incess  actually  took  a  cigar  and 
began  to  smoke.  Lady  Kicklebury  was  aghast,  and  trembled; 
and  |)resently  Lord  T'alboys  l)urst  into  a  loud  fit  of  laughter. 

''What  is  the  cause  of  your  lordship's  anuisement?"  asked 
the  dowager,  hooking  very  much  frightened,  and  blushing  like 
a  maiden  of  sixteen. 

Excuse  me,  Lady  Kicklebury,  but  I  can't  help  it,''  he 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


143 


said.  "  YouVe  been  talking  to  3^our  opposite  neighbor  —  she 
don't  understand  a  word  of  English  —  and  calling  her  princess 
and  highness,  and  she's  no  more  a  princess  than  you  or  I. 
She  is  a  little  milliner  in  the  street  she  mentioned,  and  she 
dances  at  Mabille  and  Chateau  Rouge." 

Hearing  these  two  familiar  names,  the  princess  looked  hard 
at  Lord  Talbo\^s,  but  he  never  lost  countenance  ;  and  at  the 
next  station  Lad}^  Kicklebury  rushed  out  of  the  smoking- 
carriage  and  returned  to  her  own  place  ;  where,  I  dare  say. 
Captain  Hicks  and  Miss  Fanny  were  delighted  once  more  to 
have  the  advantage  of  her  company  and  conversation.  And 
so  they  went  back  to  England,  and  the  Kickleburys  were  no 
longer  seen  on  the  Rhine.  If  her  ladj^ship  is  not  cured  of  hunt- 
ing after  great  people,  it  will  not  be  for  want  of  warning :  but 
which  of  us  in  life  has  not  had  many  warnings  :  and  is  it  for 
lack  of  them  that  we  stick  to  our  little  failings  still  ? 

When  the  Kickleburys  were  gone,  that  merr}^  little  Rouge t- 
noirbourg  did  not  seem  the  same  place  to  me,  somehow.  The 
sun  shone  still,  but  the  wind  came  down  <iold  from  the  purple 
hills  ;  the  band  played,  but  their  tunes  were  stale  ;  the  prome- 
naders  paced  the  alleys,  but  I  knew  all  their  faces  :  as  I  looked 
out  of  my  windows  in  the  Tissisch  house  upon  the  great  blank 
casements  lately  occupied  by  the  Kickleburys,  and  remembered 
what  a  pretty  face  I  had  seen  looking  thence  but  a  few  days 
back,  I  cared  not  to  look  any  longer ;  and  though  Mrs.  Milli- 
ken  did  invite  me  to  tea,  and  talked  fine  arts  and  poetry  over 
the  meal,  both  the  beverage  and  the  conversation  seemed  very 
weak  and  insipid  to  me,  and  I  fell  asleep  once  in  my  chair 
opposite  that  highl}^  cultivated  being.  "  Let  us  go  back,  Lan- 
kin,"  said  I  to  the  Serjeant,  and  he  was  nothing  loth ;  for  most 
of  the  other  Serjeants,  barristers,  and  Queen's  counsel  were 
turning  homewards,  by  this  time,  the  period  of  term  time  sum- 
moning them  all  to  the  Temple. 

So  we  went  straight  one  day  to  Biberich  on  the  Rhine,  and 
found  the  little  town  full  of  Britons,  all  trooping  home  like 
ourselves.  Everj'body  comes,  and  everybody  goes  away  again, 
at  about  the  same  time.  The  Rhine  innkeepers  say  thatl:heir 
customers  cease  with  a  single  da}^  almost :  — that  in  three  days 
they  shall  have  ninety,  eighty,  a  hundred  guests  ;  on  the  fourth, 
ten  or  eight.  We  do  as  our  neighbors  do.  Though  we  don't 
speak  to  each  other  much  when  we  are  out  a-pleasuring,  we 
take  our  holiday  in  common,  and  go  back  to  our  work  in  gangs. 


144 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 


Little  Biberich  was  so  full,  that  Lankin  and  I  could  not  get 
rooms  at  the  large  inns  frequented  by  other  persons  of  fashion, 
and  could  onh'  procure  a  room  between  us,  ''at  the  German 
House,  where  you  find  EngUsh  comfort,"  says  the  advertise- 
ment, "with  German  prices." 

But  oh,  the  English  comfort  of  those  beds  !  How  did  Lankin 
manage  in  his,  with  his  great  long  legs?  How  did  I  toss  and 
tumble  in  mine  ;  which,  small  as  it  was,  I  was  not  destined  to 
enjoy  alone,  but  to  pass  the  night  in  company  with  anthro- 
pophagous wretched  reptiles,  who  took  their  horrid  meal  off  an 
English  Christian  !  I  thought  the  morning  would  never  come  ; 
and  when  the  tardy  dawn  at  length  arrived,  and  as  I  was  in  my 
first  sleep,  dreaming  of  Miss  Fannj',  behold  I  was  wakened  up 
b}^  the  Serjeant,  already  dressed  and  shaven,  and  who  said, 
''  Rise,  Titmarsh,  the  steamer  will  be  here  in  three-quarters  of 
an  hour."  And  the  modest  gentleman  retired,  and  left  me  to 
dress. 


The  next  morning  we  had  passed  by  the  rocks  and  towers, 
the  old  familiar  landscapes,  the  gleaming  towns  b}^  the  river- 
side, and  the  green  vine^^ards  combed  along  the  hills,  and  when 
I  woke  up,  it  was  at  a  great  hotel  at  Cologne,  and  it  was  not 
sunrise  yet. 

Deutz  lay  opposite,  and  over  Deutz  the  dusk}^  sky  was 
reddened.  The  hills  were  veiled  in  the  mist  and  the  gray. 
The  gray  river  flowed  underneath  us  ;  the  steamers  were  roost- 
ing along  the  quays,  a  light  keeping  watch  in  the  cabins  here 
and  there,  and  its  reflections  quivering  in  the  water.  As  I 
look,  the  sky-line  towards  the  east  grows  redder  and  redder. 
A  long  troop  of  gray  horsemen  winds  down  the  river  road,  and 
passes  over  the  bridge  of  boats.  You  might  take  them  for 
ghosts,  those  gra}^  horsemen,  so  shadow}^  do  they  look  ;  but 
you  hear  the  ti  ample  of  theii*  hoofs  as  tlu^y  pass  over  the  })lanks. 
P^very  minute  tlie  dawn  twinkles  up  into  the  twilight ;  and  over 
Deutz  the  heaven  blushes  brighter.  The  quays  begin  to  fill 
with  m(;n  :  the  carts  begin  to  creak  and  rattle,  and  wake  the 
sleeping  echoes.  Ding,  ding,  ding,  the  steamers'  bells  begin 
to  ring :  the  jjeople  on  board  to  stir  and  wake  :  the  lights  may 
be  extinguish(;d,  and  take  th(;ir  turn  of  sleej) :  the  active  boats 
shake  themselves,  and  push  out  into  the  river :  the  great  bridge 
opens,  and  gives  them  passage  :  the  church  Ix'lls  of  the  city 
begin  to  clink :  the  cavalry  trumpets  blow  from  the  opposite 


ON  THE  RHINE. 


145 


bank :  the  sailor  is  at  the  wheel,  the  porter  at  his  burden,  the 
soldier  at  his  musket,  and  the  priest  at  his  prayers.  .  .  . 

And  lo  !  in  a  flash  of  crimson  splendor,  with  blazing  scarlet 
clouds  running  before  his  chariot,  and  heralding  his  majestic 
approach,  God's  sun  rises  upon  the  world,  and  all  nature  wakens 
and  brightens. 

O  glorious  spectacle  of  light  and  life  !  O  beatific  symbol  of 
Power,  Love,  Joy,  Beauty  !  Let  us  look  at  thee  with  humble 
wonder,  and  thankfuU}^  acknowledge  and  adore.  What  gracious 
forethought  is  it  —  what  generous  and  loving  provision,  that 
deigns  to  prepare  for  our  eyes  and  to  soothe  our  hearts  with 
such  a  splendid  morning  festival !  For  these  magnificent 
bounties  of  heaven  to  us,  let  us  be  thankful,  even  that  we  can 
feel  thankful —  (for  thanks  surel}'  is  the  noblest  efljort,  as  it  is 
the  greiatest  delight,  of  the  gentle  soul)  —  and  so,  a  grace  for 
this  feast,  let  all  sa}'  who  partake  of  it. 

See !  the  mist  clears  off  Drachenfels,  and  it  looks  out  from 
the  distance,  and  bids  us  a  friendl}^  farewell.  Farewell  to 
holiday  and  sunshine ;  farewell  to  kindly  sport  and  pleasant 
leisure  !  Let  us  say  good-by  to  the  Rhine,  fiiend.  Fogs,  and 
cares,  and  labor  are  awaiting  us  b}^  the  Thames  ;  and  a  kind 
face  or  two  looking  out  for  us  to  cheer  and  bid  us  welcome. 


10 


TIE  KOSE  AND  TIE  RIM; 

OR, 

THE  HISTORY  OF  PRIKCE  GIGLIO  AND  PEINCE 

BULBO. 


A  FIRE-SIDE  PANTOMIME  FOR  GREAT  AND  SMALL  CHILDREN. 
By  MR.  M.  A.  TITMARSH. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


PRELUDE. 


It  happened  that  the  undersigned  spent  the  last  Christmas 
season  in  a  foreign  city  where  there  were  many  EngUsh  chil- 
dren. 

In  that  city,  if  you  wanted  to  give  a  child's  party,  you 
could  not  even  get  a  magic-lantern  or  buy  Twelfth-Night  char- 
acters—  those  funny  painted  pictures  of  the  King,  the  Queen, 
the  Lover,  the  Lad}^,  the  Dandy,  the  Captain,  and  so  on  — 
with  which  our  young  ones  are  wont  to  recreate  themselves  at 
this  festive  time. 

My  friend  Miss  Bunch,  who  was  governess  of  a  large  famil}' 
that  lived  in  the  Piano  Nobile  of  the  house  inhabited  by  myself 
and  my  3^oung  charges  (it  was  the  Palazzo  Poniatowski  at 
Rome,  and  Messrs.  Spillmann,  two  of  the  best  pastrA'-cooks  in 
Christendom,  have  their  shop  on  the  ground-floor) :  Miss  Bunch, 
I  say,  begged  me  to  draw  a  set  of  Twelfth-Night  characters 
for  the  amusement  of  our  young  people. 

She  is  a  lad}^  of  great  fancy  and  droll  imagination,  and 
having  looked  at  the  characters,  she  and  I  composed  a  history 
about  them,  which  was  recited  to  the  little  folks  at  night,  and 
served  as  our  fike-side  pantomime. 

Our  juvenile  audience  was  amused  by  the  adventures  of 
Giglio  and  Bulbo,  Eosalba  and  Angelica.    I  am  bound  to  say 


150 


PRELUDE. 


the  fate  of  the  Hall  Porter  created  a  considerable  sensation ; 
and  the  wrath  of  Countess  GrufFanulf  was  received  with  extreme 
pleasure. 

If  these  children  are  pleased,  thought  I,  why  should  not 
others  be  amused  also?  In  a  few  days  Dr.  Birch's  young 
friends  will  be  expected  to  re-assemble  at  Rodwell  Regis, 
where  they  will  learn  everything  that  is  useful,  and  under 
the  eyes  of  careful  ushers  continue  the  business  of  their  little 
lives. 

But,  in  the  meanwhile,  and  for  a  brief  holida}',  let  us  laugh 
and  be  as  pleasant  as  we  can.  And  you  elder  folks  —  a  Httle 
joking,  and  dancing,  and  fooling  will  do  even  you  no  harm. 
The  author  wishes  you  a  merry  Christmas,  and  welcomes  you 
to  the  Fire-side  Pantomime. 

M.  A.  TITMARSH. 

December,  1854. 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


I. 

SHOWS  HOW  THE  ROYAL  FAMILY  SAT  DOWN  TO  BREAKFAST. 

This  is  Valoroso  XXIV.,  King  of  Paflagonia,  seated  with 
his  Queen  and  onl}'  child  at  their  royal  breakfast-table,  and 
receiving  the  letter  which  announces  to  his  Majesty  a  proposed 
visit  from  Prince  Bulbo,  heir  of  Padella,  reigning  King  of  Crim 
Tartar}'.  Remark  the  delight  upon  the  monarch's  royal  fea- 
tures. He  is  so  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  the  King  of  Crim 
Tartary's  letter,  that  he  allows  his  eggs  to  get  cold,  and  leaves 
his  august  muffins  untasted. 

''What!  that  wic>ked,  brave,  delightful  Prince  Bulbo!'' 
cries  Princess  Angelica;  '"so  handsome,  so  accomplished,  so 


152 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


witty  —  the  conqueror  of  Rimbombamento,  where  he  slew  ten 
thousand  giants  ! 

Who  told  you  of  him,  my  dear?"  asks  his  Majesty. 

A  little  bird,"  says  Angelica. 

Poor  GigUo  !  "  says  mamma,  pouring  out  the  tea. 
'^Bother  Giglio !  "   cries  Angelica,  tossing  up  her  head, 
which  rustled  with  a  thousand  curl-papers. 

I  wish,"  growls  the  King  —  ''I  wish  Gigho  was  ..." 
''Was  better?    Yes,  dear,  he  is  better,"  says  the  Queen. 
"  Angelica's  Uttle  maid,  Betsinda,  told  me  so  when  she  came  to 
my  room  this  niorning  with  m^^  early  tea." 

You  are  always  drinking  tea,"  said  the  monarch,  with  a 
scowl. 

It  is  better  than  drinking  port  or  brandj^-and-water,"  re- 
plies her  Majesty. 

Well,  well,  my  dear,  I  only  said  you  were  fond  of  drinking 
tea,"  said  the  King  of  Paflagonia,  with  an  effort  as  if  to  com- 
mand his  temper.  Angehca  !  I  hope  3'ou  have  plenty  of  new 
dresses ;  j^our  milliners'  bills  are  long  enough.  My  dear 
Queen,  you  must  see  and  have  some  parties.  I  prefer  dinners, 
but  of  course  you  will  be  for  balls.  Your  everlasting  blue 
velvet  quite  tires  me  :  and,  my  love,  I  should  like  you  to  have 
a  new  necklace.  Order  one.  Not  more  than  a  hundred  or  a 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds." 

And  Giglio,  dear?"  says  the  Queen. 

"  GiGLIO  MAY  GO  TO  THE   " 

''Oh,  sir!"  screams  her  Majesty.  "Your  own  nephew! 
our  late  King's  only  son." 

"•Giglio  ma}^  go  to  the  tailor's,  and  order  the  bills  to  be  sent 
in  to  Glumboso  to  pay.  Confound  him.  I  mean  bless  his  dear 
heart.  He  need  not  want  for  nothing ;  give  him  a  couple  of 
guineas  for  pocket-money,  my  dear :  and  you  ma}^  as  well 
order  yourself  bracelets  while  you  are  about  the  necklace, 
Mrs.  V." 

Her  Majesty,  or  Mrs,  F.,  as  the  monarch  facetiously  called 
her  (for  even  royalty  will  have  its  s[)()rt,  and  this  august  family 
were  veiy  much  attached),  embraced  her  husband,  and,  twining 
her  arm  round  her  daughter's  waist,  they  (juitted  the  breakfast- 
room  in  ord(u*  to  make  all  things  ready  for  the  princely 
stranger. 

When  they  wei'e  gone,  the  smile  that  had  lighted  u[)  the 
eyes  of  the  hnshand  and  faiJicr  fled  —  the  pride;  of  the  King 
fled  —  the  man  was  alone.  Had  I  the  pen  of  a  (i.  P.  R.  James, 
I  would  describe  Valoroso's  torments  in  the  choicest  language  ; 


THE  KOSE  AND  THE  RING. 


153 


in  which  I  would  also  depict  his  flashing  eye,  his  distended 
nostril  —  his  dressing-gown,  pocket-handkerchief,  and  boots. 
But  I  need  not  say  I  have  not  the  pen  of  that  noveUst ;  suffice 
it  to  say,  Valoroso  was  alone. 

He  rushed  to  the  cupboard,  seizing  from  the  table  one  of 
the  many  egg-cups  with  which  his  princely  board  was  served 
for  the  matin  meal,  drew  out  a  bottle  of  right  Nantz  or 
Cognac,  filled  and  emptied  the  cup  several  times,  and  laid  it 
down  with  a  hoarse  Ha,  ha,  ha!  now  Valoroso  is  a  man 
again. 

But  oh  !  "  he  went  on,  (still  sipping,  I  am  sorr^-  to  say,) 
''ere  I  was  a  king,  I  needed  not  this  intoxicating  draught; 
once  I  detested  the  hot  brandy  wine,  and  quaffed  no  other 
fount  but  nature's  rill.  It  dashes  not  more  quickly  o'er  the 
rocks,  than  I  did,  as,  with  blunderbuss  in  hand,  I  brushed 
away  the  early  morning  dew,  and  shot  the  partridge,  snipe,  or 
antlered  deer !  Ah !  well  ma}'  England's  dramatist  remark, 
'  Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown  ! '  Why  did  I  steal 
my  nephew's,  my  3'oung  Giglio's  —  ?  Steal!  said  I?  no,  no, 
no,  not  steal,  not  steal.  Let  me  withdraw  that  odious  expres- 
sion. I  took,  and  on  m}'  manly  head  I  set,  the  ro3'al  crown 
of  Paflagonia ;  I  took,  and  with  my  roj^al  arm  I  wield,  the 
sceptral  rod  of  Paflagonia ;  I  took,  and  in  my  outstretched 
hand  I  hold,  the  royal  orb  of  Paflagonia !  Could  a  poor  boy, 
a  snivelling,  drivelling  boy  —  was  in  his  nurse's  arms  but  yes- 
terday, and  cried  for  sugar-plums  and  puled  for  pap  —  bear 
up  the  awful  weight  of  crown,  orb,  sceptre?  gird  on  the 
sword  my  royal  fathers  wore,  and  meet  in  fight  the  tough 
Crimean  foe?" 

And  then  the  monarch  went  on  to  argue  in  his  own  mind 
(though  we  need  not  sa}^  that  blank  verse  is  not  argument)  that 
what  he  had  got  it  was  his  dutj'  to  keep,  and  that,  if  at  one 
time  he  had  entertained  ideas  of  a  certain  restitution,  which 
shall  be  nameless,  the  prospect  b}^  a  certain  marriage  of  uniting 
two  crowns  and  two  nations  which  had  been  engaged  in  bloody 
and  expensive  wars,  as  the  Paflagonians  and  the  Crimeans  had 
been,  put  the  idea  of  Giglio's  restoration  to  the  throne  out  of 
the  question  :  nay,  were  his  own  brother,  King  Savio,  alive,  he 
would  certainly  will  awa}'  the  crown  from  his  own  son  in  order 
to  bring  about  such  a  desirable  union. 

Thus  easily  do  we  deceive  ourselves  !  Thus  do  we  fancy 
what  we  wish  is  right !  The  King  took  courage,  read  the 
papers,  finished  his  muffins  and  eggs,  and  rang  the  bell  for  his 
Prime  Minister.    The  Queen,  after  thinking  whether  she  should 


154 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


go  up  and  see  Giglio,  who  had  been  sick,  thought,  "  Not  now. 
Business  first ;  pleasure  afterwards.  I  will  go  and  see  dear 
Giglio  this  afternoon  ;  and  now  I  will  drive  to  the  jeweller's,  to 
look  for  the  necklace  and  bracelets."  The  Princess  went  up 
into  her  own  room,  and  made  Betsinda,  her  maid,  bring  out  all 
her  dresses  ;  and  as  for  Giglio,  thej  forgot  him  as  much  as  I 
forget  what  I  had  for  dinner  last  Tuesday  twelvemonth. 


II. 

HOW  KING  VALOROSO  GOT  THE  CROVTN,  AND  PRINCE  GIGLIO  WENT 

WITHOUT. 

Paflagonia,  ten  or  twenty  thousand  years  ago,  appears  to 
have  been  one  of  those  kingdoms  where  the  laws  of  succession 
were  not  settled ;  for  when  King  Savio  died,  leaving  his 
brother  regent  of  the  kingdom,  and  guardian  of  Savio's  orphan 
infant,  this  unfaithful  regent  took  no  sort  of  regard  of  tlie  late 
monarch's  will ;  had  himself  proclaimed  sovereign  of  Paflagonia 
under  the  title  of  King  Valoroso  XXIV.,  had  a  most  splendid 
coronation,  and  ordered  all  the  nobles  of  the  kingdom  to  pay 
him  homage.  So  long  as  Valoroso  gave  them  plenty  of  balls 
at  Court,  plenty  of  mone\'  and  lucrative  places,  the  Paflagonian 
nobilit}'  did  not  care  who  was  king ;  and,  as  for  the  people,  in 
those  early  times  they  were  equally  indifferent.  The  Prince 
Giglio,  by  reason  of  his  tender  age  at  his  ro3'al  father's  death, 
did  not  feel  the  loss  of  his  crown  and  empire.  As  long  as  he 
had  plent}'  of  toys  and  sweetmeats,  a  holiday  five  times  a 
week,  and  a  horse  and  gun  to  go  out  shooting  when  he  grew  a 
little  older,  and,  above  all,  the  company  of  his  darling  cousin, 
the  King's  only  child,  poor  Giglio  was  perfectly  contented  ; 
nor  did  he  envy  his  uncle  the  royal  robes  and  sceptre,  the  great 
hot  uncomfortable  throne  of  state,  and  the  enormous  cumber- 
some crown  in  which  that  monarch  ai)peare(l  from  morning  till 
night.  King  Valoroso's  portrait  has  been  left  to  us  ;  and  I 
think  3'ou  will  agree  with  me  that  he  must  have  been  some- 
times rather  tired  of  his  velvet,  and  his  diamonds,  and  his 
ermine,  and  his  grandeur.  I  shouldn't  like  to  sit  in  that 
stifling  robe,  with  such  a  thing  as  that  on  my  head. 

No  dou])t,  the  (^uecin  must  have  ])een  lovely  in  her  youth ; 
for  though  she  grew  rather  stout  in  aft(U'  life,  yet  her  features, 
as  shown  in  her  portrait,  arc  certainly  pleasing.    If  she  was 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING.  155 

fond  of  flatteiy,  scandal,  cards,  and  fine  clothes,  let  us  deal 
gently  with  her  infirmities  :  which,  after  all,  may  be  no  greater 
than  our  own.  She  was  kind  to  her  nephew  ;  and  if  she  had 
any  scruples  of  conscience  about  her  husband's  taking  the 


young  Prince's  crown,  consoled  herself  by  thinking  that  the 
King,  though  a  usurper,  was  a  most  respectable  man,  and  that 
at  his  death  Prince  Giglio  would  be  restored  to  his  throne,  and 
share  it  with  his  cousin,  whom  he  loved  so  fondly. 

The  Prime  Minister  was  Glumboso,  an  old  statesman,  who 


15b  THE  EOSE  AND  THE  KING. 

most  cheerfully  swore  fidelity  to  King  Valoroso,  and  in  whose 
hands  the  monarch  left  all  the  affairs  of  his  kingdom.  All  Valo- 
roso wanted  was  plenty  of  money,  plenty  of  hunting,  plenty  of 
flattery,  and  as  Uttle  trouble  as  possible.    As  long  as  he  had 


his  sport,  this  monarch  cared  little  how  his  people  paid  for  it: 
he  en<^ag(id  in  some  wars,  and  of  course  tlie  Paflagonian  news- 
papers annouiKted  that  he  gained  prodigious  yictories  ;  he  had 
statues  erected  to  himself  in  every  city  of  the  empire  ;  and  of 
course  his  pictures  placed  everywhere,  and  in  all  the  print- 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


157 


shops  :  he  was  Valoroso  the  Magnanimous,  Valoroso  the  Victo- 
rious, Valoroso  the  Great,  and  so  forth  ;  —  for  even  in  these 
early  times  courtiers  and  people  knew  how  to  flatter. 

This  ro3  al  pair  had  one  only  child,  the  Princess  Angelica, 
who,  you  may  be  sure,  was  a  paragon  in  the  courtiers'  eyes,  in 
her  parents',  and  in  her  own.  It  was  said  she  had  the  longest 
hair,  the  largest  eyes,  the  slimmest  waist,  the  smallest  foot, 
and  the  most  lovely  complexion  of  any  young  lad}^  in  the  Pafla- 
gonian  dominions.  Her  accomplishments  were  announced  to 
be  even  superior  to  her  beauty  ;  and  governesses  used  to  shame 
their  idle  pupils  by  telling  them  what  Princess  Angelica  could 
do.  She  could  pla}^  the  most  difficult  pieces  of  music  at  sight. 
She  could  answer  any  one  of ' '  Mangnall's  Questions."  She  knew 
every  date  in  the  history  of  Paflagonia,  and  every  other  country. 
She  knew  French,  English,  Italian,  German,  Spanish,  Hebrew 
Greek,  Latin,  Cappa- 
docian,  Samothracian, 
^gean,  and  Crim  Tar- 
tar. In  a  word,  she  was 
a  most  accomplished 
young  creature  ;  and  her 
governess  and  ladj^-in- 
waiting  was  the  severe 
Countess  Gruffanuff. 

Would  3'ou  not  fancy, 
from  this  picture,  that 
G  ruffan  u ff  must  have 
been  a  person  of  the 
highest  birth?  She  looks 
so  haughty  that  I  should 
have  thought  her  a  prin- 
cess at  the  very  least, 
with  a  pedigree  reach- 
ing as  far  back  as  the 
Deluge.  But  this  lady 
was  no  better  born  than 
many  other  ladies  who 
give  themselves  airs ; 
and  all  sensible  people 
laughed  at  her  absurd 
.pretensions.  The  fact 
is,  she  had  been  maid- 
servant to  the  Queen 
when  her  Majesty  was 


158 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


onl}'  Princess,  and  her  husband  had  been  head  footman ;  but 
after  his  death,  or  disappearance^  of  which  3'ou  shall  hear  pres- 
ently, this  Mrs.  Gruffanuff,  by  flattering,  toad3ing,  and  wheed- 
ling her  royal  mistress,  became  a  favorite  with  the  Queen  (who 
was  rather  a  weak  woman),  and  her  Majesty  gave  her  a  title, 
and  made  her  nursery  governess  to  the  princess. 

And  now  I  must  tell  3'ou  about  the  princess's  learning  and 
accomplishments,  for  which  she  had  such  a  wonderful  character. 
Clever  Angelica  certainly  was,  but  as  idle  as  possible.  Play  at 
sight,  indeed  !  she  could  pla}'  one  or  two  pieces,  and  pretend 
that  siie  had  never  seen  them  before  ;  she  could  answer  half- 
a  dozen  Mangnall's  Questions  ;  "  but  then  3'ou  must  take  care 
to  ask  the  right  ones.  As  for  her  languages,  she  had  masters 
in  plenty,  but  I  doubt  whether  she  knew  more  than  a  few 
phrases  in  each,  for  all  her  pretence  ;  and  as  for  her  embroider}^ 
and  her  drawing,  she  showed  beautiful  specimens,  it  is  true, 
but  who  did.  them  ? 

This  obliges  me  to  tell  the  truth,  and  to  do  so  I  must  go 
back  ever  so  far,  and  tell  you  about' the  Fairy  Blackstick. 


III. 

TELLS  WHO  THE  FAIRY  BLACKSTICK  WAS,  AND  WHO  WERE 
EVER  so  MANY  GRAND  PERSONAGES  BESIDES. 

Between  the  kingdoms  of  Paflagonia  and  Crim  Tartar}^, 
there  lived  a  mysterious  personage,  who  was  known  in  those 
countries  as  the  Fair}^  Blackstick,  from  the  ebony  wand  or 
crutch  which  she  carried  :  on  which  she  rode  to  the  moon  some- 
times, or  upon  other  excursions  of  business  or  pleasure,  and 
with  wliich  she  performed  her  wonders. 

When  she  was  young,  and  had  been  first  taught  the  art  of 
conjuring,  by  the  necromancer  her  father,  she  was  always  prac- 
tising her  skill,  wliizzing  about  from  one  kingdom  to  another 
upon  her  black  stick,  and  conferring  her  fairy  favors  upon  this 
prince  or  that.  She  had  scores  of  royal  godcthildren  ;  turned 
numl)erless  wicked  peoi)lc  into  beasts,  birds,  millstones,  clocks, 
pumps,  bootjacks,  umbrellas,  or  other  absurd  shapes  ;  and,  in 
a  word,  was  one  of  the  most  active  and  ollicious  of  the  whole 
college  of  fairies. 

But  after  two  or  three  thousand  years  of  this  sport,  I  sup- 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


159 


pose  Blackstick  grew  tired  of  it.  Or  perhaps  she  thought, 
"  What  good  am  I  doing  by  sending  this  princess  to  sleep  for  a 
hundred  years  ?  by  fixing  a  black  pudding  on  to  that  booby's 
nose?  by  causing  diamonds  and  pearls  to  drop  from  one  little 
girl's  mouth,  and  vipers  and  toads  from  another's?  I  begin  to 
think  I  do  as  much  harm  as  good  by  my  performances.  I 
might  as  well  shut  my  incantations  up,  and  allow  things  to  take 
their  natural  course. 

"There  were  my  two  young  goddaughters.  King  Savio's 
wife  and  Duke  Padella's  wife :  I  gave  them  each  a  present, 
which  was  to  render  them  charming  in  the  eyes  of  tiieir  hus- 
bands, and  secure  the  affection  of  those  gentlemen  as  long  as 
they  lived.  What  good  did  my  Rose  and  my  Ring  do  these 
two  women?  None  on  earth.  From  having  all  their  whims 
indulged  by  their  husbands,  they  became  capricious,  laz}',  ill- 
humored,  absurdl}^  vain,  and  leered  and  languished,  and  fancied 
themselves  irresistibly  beautiful,  when  they  were  really  quite  old 
and  hideous,  the  ridiculous  creatures  !  They  used  actually  to 
patronize  me  when  I  went  to  pay  them  a  visit ;  —  me,  the  Fair}^ 
Blackstick,  who  knows  all  the  wisdom  of  the  necromancers,  and 
who  could  have  turned  them  into  baboons,  and  all  their  dia- 
monds into  strings  of  onions,  by  a  single  wave  of  m}^  rod  !  " 
So  she  locked  up  her  books  in  her  cupboard,  declined  farther 
magical  performances,  and  scarcely  used  her  wand  at  all  except 
as  a  cane  to  walk  about  with. 

So  when  Duke  Padella's  lady  had  a  little  son  (the  Duke  was 
at  that  time  only  one  of  the  principal  noblemen  in  Crim  Tar- 
tar}^), Blackstick,  although  invited  to  the  christening,  would  not 
so  much  as  attend  ;  but  merel}'  sent  her  compliments  and  a 
silver  papboat  for  the  baby,  which  was  really  not  worth  a  couple 
of  guineas.  About  the  same  time  the  Queen  of  Paflagonia 
presented  his  Majesty  with  a  son  and  heir ;  and  guns  were 
fired,  the  capital  illuminated,  and  no  end  of  feasts  ordained  to 
celebrate  the  .young  prince's  birth.  It  was  thought  the  Fair}', 
who  was  asked  to  be  his  godmother,  would  at  least  have  pre- 
sented him  with  an  invisible  jacket,  a  flying  horse,  a  Fortu- 
natus's  purse,  or  some  other  valuable  token  of  her  favor ;  but 
instead,  Blackstick  went  up  to  the  cradle  of  the  child  Giglio, 
when  everybod}'  was  admiring  him  and  complimenting  his 
royal  papa  and  mamma,  and  said,  "My  poor  child,  the  best 
thing  I  can  send  3'ou  is  a  little  misfortune  ;  "  and  this  was  all 
she  would  utter,  to  the  disgust  of  Giglio's  parents,  who  died 
very  soon  after ;  when  Giglio's  uncle  took  the  throne,  as  we 
read  in  Chapter  I. 


160 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


In  like  manner,  when  Cavolfiore,  King  of  Crim  Tartary, 
had  a  christening  of  his  only  child,  Rosalba,  the  Fairy  Black- 
stick,  who  had  been  invited,  was  not  more  gracious  than  in 
Prince  Giglio's  case.  Whilst  ever^'bod}^  was  expatiating  over 
the  beaut}^  of  the  darling  child,  and  congratulating  its  parents, 
the  Fairy  Blackstick  looked  ver}^  sadly  at  the  bab}^  and  its 
mother,  and  said,  ''My  good  woman  "  —  (for  the  Fairy  was  very 
familiar,  and  no  more  minded  a  queen  than  a  washerwoman) 
—  "  m}'  good  woman,  these  people  who  are  following  you  will 
be  the  first  to  turn  against  3'ou  ;  and,  as  for  this  little  ladj^  the 
best  thing  I  can  wish  her  is  a  little  misfortune,''  So  she  touched 
Rosalba  with  her  black  wand,  looked  severely  at  the  courtiers, 
motioned  the  Queen  an  adieu  with  her  hand,  and  sailed  slowly 
up  into  the  air  out  of  window. 

When  she  was  gone,  the  Court  people,  who  had  been  awed 
and  silent  in  her  presence,  began  to  speak.  "  What  an  odious 
Fair}'  she  is,"  they  said,  —  "a  pretty  fairy,  indeed  !  Why,  she 
went  to  the  King  of  Paflagonia's  christening,  and  pretended 
to  do  all  sorts  of  things  for  that  family  ;  and  w^iat  has  hap- 
pened —  the  Prince  her  godson  has  been  turned  off  his  throne 
by  his  uncle.  Would  we  allow  our  sweet  Princess  to  be  de- 
prived of  her  rights  by  anj^  enemj^?  Never,  never,  never, 
never !  " 

And  they  all  shouted  in  a  chorus,  ''Never,  never,  never, 
never ! " 

Now,  I  should  like  to  know  how  did  these  fine  courtiers 
show  their  fidelity?  One  of  King  Cavolfiore's  vassals,  the 
Duke  Padella  just  mentioned,  rebelled  against  the  King,  who 
went  out  to  chastise  his  rebellious  subject.  "  Any  one  rebel 
against  our  beloved  and  august  Monarch !  "  cried  the  cour- 
tiers ;  "any  one  resist  fiim !  Pooh!  He  is  invincible,  irre- 
sistible. He  will  bring  home  Padella  a  prisoner,  and  tie  him 
to  a  donkey's  tail,  and  drive  him  round  the  town,  saying, 
'  This  is  the  way  the  great  Cavolfiore  treats  rebels.'  " 

The  King  went  forth  to  vanquish  Padella  ;  and  the  poor 
Queen  who  was  a  very  timid,  anxious  creature,  grew  so 
frightened  and  ill,  that  I  am  sorry  to  say  she  died;  leaving 
injunctions  with  her  ladies  to  take  care  of  the  dear  little 
Rosalba.  Of  course  they  said  they  would.  Of  course  they 
vowcid  they  would  die  rather  than  any  harm  should  hai)pen  to 
the  Princ;ess.  At  first  tlu;  Crim  Tartar  Court  Journal  stated 
that  the  King  was  obtaining  gr(\at  victories  over  tiie  audacious 
rebel:  then  it  was  announced  that  the  troops  of  the  inlhmous 
Padella  were  in  fiight :  then  it  was  said  that  the  royal  army 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


161 


would  soon  come  up  with  the  enemy,  and  then  —  then  the  news 
came  that  King  Cavolfiore  was  vanquished  and  slain  by  his 
Majesty,  King  Padella  the  First ! 

At  this  news,  half  the  courtiers  ran  off  to  pa}''  their  duty 
to  the  conquering  chief,  and  the  other  half  ran  away,  laying 
hands  on  all  the  best  articles  in  the  palace  ;  and  poor  little 
Rosalba  was  left  there  quite  alone  —  quite  alone  :  she  toddled 
from  one  room  to  another,  crying,  Countess!  Duchess!" 
(only  she  said  Tountess,  Duttess,"  not  being  able  to  speak 
plain)  bring  me  m}^  mutton-sop;  my  Royal  Highness  hun- 
gry !  Tountess  !  Duttess  !  "  And  she  went  from  the  private 
apartments  into  the  throne-room,  and  nobody  was  there;  — 
and  thence  into  the  ball-room,  and  nobody  was  there:  —  and 
thence  into  the  pages'  room,  and  nobody  was  there  ;  —  and 
she  toddled  down  the  great  staircase  into  the  hall,  and  nobody 
was  there  ;  —  and  the  door  was  open,  and  she  went  into  the 
court,  and  into  the  garden,  and  thence  into  the  wilderness,  and 
thence  into  the  forest  where  the  wild  beasts  live,  and  was  never 
heard  of  any  more  ! 


11 


162 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


A  piece  of  her  torn  mantle  and  one  of  her  shoes  were  found 
in  the  wood  in  the  mouth  of  two  lioness's  cubs,  whom  King 
Padella  and  a  ro3^al  hunting  part}'  shot  —  for  he  was  King 
now,  and  reigned  over  Crim  TsLYtary,  "  So  the  poor  little 
Princess  is  done  for,"  said  he.  "  Well,  what's  done  can't  be 
helped.  Gentlemen,  let  us  go  to  luncheon  !  "  And  one  of  the 
courtiers  took  up  the  shoe  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  And 
there  was  an  end  of  Rosalba  ! 


IV. 

HOW  BLACKSTICK  WAS  NOT  ASKED  TO  THE  PRINCESS  ANGELICA'S 
CHRISTENING. 

When  the  Princess  Angelica  was  born,  her  parents  not  only 
did  not  ask  the  Fairy  Blackstick  to  the  christening  part}^  but 
gave  orders  to  their  porter,  absolutely  to  refuse  her  if  she 
called.  This  porter's  name  was  Gruffanuff,  and  he  had  been 
selected  for  the  post  b}'  their  Roj^al  Highnesses  because  he  was  a 
very  tall  fierce  man,  who  could  say  Not  at  home"  to  a  trades- 
man or  an  unwelcome  visitor  with  a  rudeness  which  frightened 
most  such  persons  awa}'.  He  was  the  husband  of  that  Countess 
whose  picture  we  have  just  seen,  and  as  long  as  they  were  to- 
gether they  quarrelled  from  morning  till  night.  Now  this  fellow 
tried  his  rudeness  once  too  often,  as  you  shall  hear.  For  the 
Fairy  Blackstick  coming  to  call  upon  the  Prince  and  Princess, 
who  were  actuall.y  sitting  at  the  open  drawing-room  window, 
Gruffanuff  not  only  denied  them,  ])ut  made  the  most  odious  vul- 
gar sign  as  he  was  going  to  slam  the  door  in  the  Fairy's  face ! 
"  Git  away,  hold  Blackstick  !  "  said  he.  I  tell  you.  Master 
and  jNIissis  ain't  at  home  to  you  :  "  and  he  was,  as  we  have  said, 
going  to  slam  the  door. 

But  tiie  Fairy,  with  her  wand,  prevented  the  door  being 
shut ;  and  Gruffanuff  came  out  again  in  a  fury,  swearing  in 
the  most  abominal)le  way,  and  asking  the  Fairy  whetlier 
she  thought  he  was  a-going  to  stay  at  that  there  door  hall 
day?" 

Yon  arc  going  to  stay  at  that  door  all  day  and  all  night,  and 
for  many  a  long  year,"  the  P\iiry  said,  very  majestically  ;  and 
Gruffanuff,  coming  out  of  the  door,  straddling  before  it  with 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  KING. 


163 


his  great  calves,  burst  out  laughing,  and  cried  ""Ha,  ha,  ha! 
that  is  a  good  'un  !  Ha  —  ah  —  what's  this  ?  Let  me  down  — 
oh  —  o  —  h'm  !  "  and  then  he  was  dumb  ! 

For,  as  the  Fairy  waved  her  wand  over  him,  he  felt  himself 
rising  off  the  ground  and  fluttering  up  against  the  door,  and 
then,  as  if  a  screw  ran  into  his  stomach,  he  felt  a  dreadful  pain 
there,  and  was  pinned  to  the  door ;  and  then  his  arms  flew  up 
over  his  head  ;  and  his  legs,  after  writhing  about  wildly,  twisted 
under  his  body  ;  and  he  felt  cold,  cold  growing  over  him,  as  if 
he  was  turning  into  metal;  and  he  said,  ''Oh — o  —  h'm  !  " 
and  could  sa}^  no  more,  because  he  was  dumb. 

He  was  turned  into  metal !  He  was  from  being  brazen^ 
fyrass  I    He  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  knocker  !  And 


164 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


there  he  was,  nailed  to  the  door 
in  the  blazing  summer  da}',  till 
he  burned  ahnost  red  hot ;  and 
there  he  was,  nailed  to  the  door 
all  the  bitter  winter  nights,  till 
his  brass  nose  was  dropping  with 
icicles.  And  the  postman  came 
and  rapped  at  him,  and  the  vul- 
garest  boy  with  a  letter  came 
and  hit  him  up  against  the  door. 
And  the  King  and  Queen  (Prin- 
cess and  Prince  they  were  then) 
coming  home  from  a  walk  that 
evening,  the  King  said,  Hullo, 
my  dear !  3^ou  have  had  a  new 
knocker  put  on  the  door.  Wh}', 


it's  rather  like  our  Porter  in  the 
face  !  What  has  become  of  that  boozy  vagabond  ? And  the 
housemaid  came  and  scrubbed  his  nose  with  sand-paper ;  and 
once,  when  the  Princess  Angelica's  little  sister  was  born,  he 
was  tied  up  in  an  old  kid-glove  ;  and  another  night,  some  lark- 
ing young  men  tried  to  wrench  him  off,  and  put  him  to  the  most 
excruciating  agony  with  a  turnscrew.  And  then  the  Queen  had 
a  fancy  to  have  the  color  of  the  door  altered,  and  the  painters 
dabbed  him  over  the  mouth  and  eyes,  and  nearly  choked  him, 
as  they  painted  him  pea-green.  I  warrant  he  had  leisure  to 
repent  of  having  been  rude  to  the  Fairy  Blackstick ! 

As  for  his  wife,  she  did  not  miss  him  ;  and  as  he  was  always 
guzzling  beer  at  the  public-house,  and  notoriousl}'  quarrelling 
with  his  wife,  and  in  debt  to  the  tradesmen,  it  was  supposed  he 
had  run  awa}^  from  all  these  evils,  and  emigrated  to  Australia 
or  America.  And  when  the  Prince  and  Princess  chose  to  be- 
come King  and  Queen,  they  left  their  old  house,  and  nobody 
thought  of  the  Porter  any  more. 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  MNG. 


166 


V. 

HOW  PRINCESS  ANGELICA  TOOK  A  LITTLE  MAID. 

One  day,  when  the  Princess  Angelica  was  quite  a  little  girl, 
she  was  walking  in  the  garden  of  the  palace,  with  Mrs.  GrufFa- 
nuff,  the  governess,  holding  a  parasol  over  her  head,  to  keep 
her  sweet  complexion  from  the  freckles,  and  Angelica  was  car- 
rying a  bun,  to  feed  the  swans  and  ducks  in  the  ro3'al  pond. 

They  had  not  reached  the  duck-pond,  when  there  came  tod- 
dling up  to  them  such  a  funn}^  little  girl.    She  had  a  great 


quantity  of  hair  blowing  about  her  chubb}'  little  cheeks,  and 
looked  as  if  she  had  not  been  washed  or  combed  for  ever  so 
long.  She  wore  a  ragged  bit  of  a  cloak,  and  had  only  one 
shoe  on. 

' '  You  little  wretch,  who  let  you  in  here  ? "  asked  Gruff- 
anuff. 

"  Dive  me  datbun,"  said  the  little  girl,  "  me  vely  hungy." 


166 


THE  ROSE  AND  TPIE  RING. 


''Hungr}^  what  is  that?"  asked  Princess  Angelica,  and 
gave  the  child  the  bun. 

"Oh,  Princess!"  sa3's  GruffanufF,  "how  good,  how  kind, 
how  truly  angelical  you  are  !  See,  your  Majesties,"  she  said 
to  the  King  and  Queen,  who  now  came  up,  along  with  their 
nephew.  Prince  Giglio,  "  how  kind  the  Princess  is!  She  met 
this  little  dirty  wretch  in  the  garden  —  I  can't  tell  how  she 
came  in  here,  or  why  the  guards  did  not  shoot  her  dead  at  the 
gate  !  —  and  the  dear  darhng  of  a  Princess  has  given  her  the 
whole  of  her  bun  !  " 

"  I  didn't  want  it,"  said  Angelica. 


THE  EOSE  AND  THE  RING. 


167 


"  But  you  are  a  darling  little  angel  all  the  same/'  says  the 
governess. 

Yes;  I  know  I  am,"  said  Angelica.  ''Dirty  little  girl, 
don't  you  think  I  am  very  pretty?"  Indeed,  she  had  on  the 
finest  of  little  dresses  and  hats  ;  and,  as  her  hair  was  carefully 
curled,  she  really  looked  very  well. 

''Oh,  pooty,  pooty  !  "  says  the  little  girl,  capering  about, 
laughing  and  dancing,  and  munching  her  bun  ;  and  as  she  ate 
it  she  began  to  sing,  "  O  what  fun  to  have  a  plum  bun  !  how  I 
wis  it  never  was  done  !  "  At  which,  and  her  funny  accent, 
Angelica,  Giglio,  and  the  King  and  Queen  began  to  laugh  very 
merril3\ 

"  I  can  dance  as  well  as  sing,"  says  the  little  girl.  "  I  can 
dance,  and  I  can  sing,  and  I  can  do  all  sorts  of  ting."  And 
she  ran  to  a  flower-bed,  and,  pulling  a  few  polyanthuses,  rhodo- 
dendrons, and  other  flowers,  made  herself  a  little  wreath,  and 
danced  before  the  King  and  Queen  so  drolly  and  prettily',  that 
everybody  was  delighted. 

"Who  was  your  mother  —  who  were  3^our  relations,  little 
girl?"  said  the  Queen. 

The  little  girl  said,  "  Little  lion  was  my  brudder ;  great  big 
lioness  my  mudder ;  neber  heard  of  any  udder."  And  she 
capered  away  on  her  one  shoe,  and  everybody  was  exceedingl}' 
diverted. 

So  Angelica  said  to  the  Queen,  "  Mamma,  my  parrot  flew 
away  yesterday  out  of  its  cage,  and  I  don't  care  any  more  for 
an}'  of  my  toys  ;  and  I  think  this  funu}^  little  dirty  child  will 
amuse  me.  I  will  take  her  home,  and  give  her  some  of  my 
old  frocks  —  " 

"  Oh,  the  generous  darling !  "  says  Gruffanuff. 

"  — Which  I  have  worn  ever  so  many  times,  and  am  quite 
tired  of,"  Angelica  went  on  ;  "  and  she  shall  be  my  little  maid. 
Will  you  come  home  witli  me,  little  dirty  girl?  " 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  and  said,  "  Go  home  with  you 
—  yes  !  You  pooty  Princess  !  Have  a  nice  dinner,  and  wear 
a  new  dress  !  " 

And  they  all  laughed  again,  and  took  home  the  child  to  the 
palace  ;  where,  when  she  was  washed  and  combed,  and  had 
one  of  the  Princess's  frocks  given  to  her,  she  looked  as  hand- 
some as  Angelica,  almost.  Not  that  Angelica  ever  thouglit 
so ;  for  this  little  lad}'  never  imagined  that  anybody  in  the 
world  could  be  as  pretty,  as  good,  or  as  clever  as  herself.  In 
order  that  the  little  girl  should  not  become  too  proud  and  con- 


168 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RHSTG. 


ceited,  Mrs.  GrufFanuff  took  her  old  ragged  mantle  and  one 
shoe,  and  put  them  into  a  glass  box,  with  a  card  laid  upon 
them,  upon  which  w^as  written,  These  were  the  old  clothes  in 
which  little  Betsinda  w^as  found  when  the  great  goodness  and 
admirable  kindness  of  her  Ro3'al  Highness  the  Princess  An- 
gelica received  this  little  outcast.''  And  the  date  was  added, 
and  the  box  locked  up. 

For  a  while  little  Betsinda  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
Princess,  and  she  danced,  and  sang,  and  made  her  little  rhymes, 
to  amuse  her  mistress.  But  then  the  Princess  got  a  monke\', 
and  afterwards  a  little  dog,  and  afterwards  a  doll,  and  did  not 
care  foi-  Betsinda  any  more,  who  became  very  melanchol}^  and 
quiet,  and  sang  no  more  funn}^  songs,  because  nobodj'  cared  to 
hear  her.  And  then,  as  she  grew  older,  she  was  made  a  little 
lady's-maid  to  the  Princess  ;  and  though  she  had  no  wages,  she 
worked  and  mended,  and  put  Angehca's  hair  in  papers,  and 
was  never  cross  when  scolded,  and  was  always  eager  to  please 
her  mistress,  and  was  alwa3's  up  earh'  and  to  bed  late,  and  at 
hand  w^hen  wanted,  and  in  fact  became  a  perfect  little  maid. 
So  the  two  girls  grew  up,  and,  when  the  Princess  came  out, 
Betsinda  was  never  tired  of  waiting  on  her ;  and  made  her 
dresses  better  than  the  best  milliner,  and  was  useful  in  a  hun- 
dred wa3's.  Whilst  the  Princess  w^as  having  her  masters,  Bet- 
sinda would  sit  and  w^atch  them  ;  and  in  this  way  she  picked 
up  a  great  deal  of  learning ;  for  she  w^as  always  awake,  though 
her  mistress  was  not,  and  listened  to  the  wise  professors  when 
Angelica  was  yawning  or  thinking  of  the  next  ball.  And  when 
the  dancing-master  came,  Betsinda  learned  along  with  Angelica  ; 
and  when  the  music-master  came,  she  watched  him,  and  prac- 
tised the  Princess's  pieces  when  Angelica  was  away  at  balls 
and  parties  ;  and  when  the  drawing-master  came,  she  took  note 
of  all  he  said  and  did  ;  and  the  same  with  P^rench,  Italian,  and 
all  other  languages  —  she  learned  them  from 
the  teacher  who  came  to  Angelica.  When 
the  Princess  was  going  out  of  an  evening  she 
would  say,  My  good  Betsinda,  you  may  as 
well  finish  what  I  have  begun."  ''Yes, 
Miss,  "  Betsinda  would  say,  and  sit  down  very 
cheerful,  not  to  finish  what  Angelica  began, 
but  to  do  it. 

For  instance,  the  Princess  would  begin  a 
head  of  a  warrior,  let  us  say,  and  when  it  was 
begun  it  was  something  like  this : 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


169 


But  when  it  was  done,  the  warrior  was 
like  this  :  —  (only  handsomer  still  if  possi- 
ble,) and  the  Princess  put  her  name  to  the 
drawing  ;  and  the  Court  and  King  and  Queen, 
and  above  all  poor  Giglio,  admired  the  pic- 
ture of  all  things,  and  said,  ''Was  there 
ever  a  genius  like  Angelica?"  So,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  was  it  with  the  Princess's 
embroidery  and  other  accomplishments  ;  and 
Angelica  actually  believed  that  she  did  these 
things  herself,  and  received  all  the  flattery  of 
the  Court  as  if  every  word  of  it  was  true. 
Thus  she  began  to  think  that  there  was  no 
young  w^oman  in  all  the  world  equal  to  herself,  and  that  no 
young  man  was  good  enough  for  her.  As  for  Betsinda,  as  she 
heard  none  of  these  praises,  she  was  not  puffed  up  b}^  them, 
and  being  a  most  graceful,  good-natured  girl,  she  w^as  only  too 
anxious  to  do  everything  which  might  give  her  mistress  pleasure. 
Now  you  begin  to  perceive  that  Angelica  had  faults  of  her  own, 
and  was  by  no  means  such  a  wonder  of  wonders  as  people  rep- 
resented her  Royal  Highness  to  be. 


VI. 

HOW  PRINCE  GIGLIO  BEHAVED  HIMSELF. 

And  now  let  us  speak  about  Prince  Giglio,  the  nephew 
of  the  reigning  monarch  of  Paflagonia.  It  has  already  been 
stated,  in  Chapter  II.,  that  as  long  as  he  had  a  smart  coat  to 
wear,  a  good  horse  to  ride,  and  money  in  his  pocket  —  or 
rather  to  take  out  of  his  pocket,  for  he  was  very  good-natured  — 
my  young  Prince  did  not  care  for  the  loss  of  his  crown  and 
sceptre,  being  a  thoughtless  youth,  not  much  inclined  to  poli- 
tics or  any  kind  of  learning.  So  his  tutor  had  a  sinecure. 
Giglio  would  not  learn  classics  or  mathematics,  and  the  Lord 
Chancellor  of  Paflagonia,  Squaretoso,  pulled  a  very  long  face 
because  the  Prince  could  not  be  got  to  study  the  Paflagonian 
laws  and  constitution  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  King's  game- 
keepers and  huntsmen  found  the  Prince  an  apt  pupil ;  the  dan- 
cing-master pronounced  that  he  was  a  most  elegant  and  assiduous 


170  THE  EOSE  AKD  THE  ETNG. 


scholar ;  the  First  Lord  of  the  BilUard  Table  gave  the  most 
flattering  reports  of  the  Prince's  skill ;  so  did  the  Groom  of  the 
Tennis  Court ;  and  as  for  the  Captain  of  the  Guard  and  Fencing- 


master,  the  valiant  and  veteran  Count  Kutasoff  Hedzoff,  he 
avowed  that  since  he  ran  the  General  of  dim  Tartary,  the 
dreadful  Grumbuskin,  through  the  bod}^,  he  never  had  en- 
countered so  expert  a  swordsman  as  Prince  Giglio. 

I  hope  you  do  not  imaghie  that  there  was  any  impropriet}^ 
in  the  Prince  and  Princess  walking  together  in  the  palace 
garden,  and  because  (iiglio  kissed  Angelica's  hand  in  a  polite 
manner.  In  the  first  place  they  are  cousins  ;  next,  the  Queen 
is  walking  in  the  garden  too  (you  cannot  see  lier,  for  she  hap- 
pens to  be  behind  that  tree),  and  her  Majc^sty  always  wished 
that  Ang(;lica  and  (jliglio  sliould  marry:  so  did  Giglio  :  so  did 
Angelica  sonu^times,  for  slui  tliought  her  cousin  very  handsome, 
brave,  and  good-natured  :  but  tiien  you  know  she  was  so  clever 
and  knew  so  many  things,  and  poor  Giglio  knew  nothing,  and 
had  no  conversation.  Wlien  they  looked  at  the  stars,  what  did 
Giglio  know  of  the  heavenly  bodies?    Once,  when  on  a  sweet 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


171 


night  in  a  balcony  where  they  were  standing  Angelica  said, 
"There  is  the  Bear  "  —  Where?  "  says  Gigiio.  "Don't  be 
afraid,  Angelica  !  if  a  dozen  bears  come,  I  will  kill  them  rather 
than  thev  shall  hurt  you."  ''Oh,  you  silly  creature!"  says 
she  :  "  3^ou  are  very  good,  but  you  are  not  very  wise."  When 
they  looked  at  the  flowers,  Gigiio  was  utterly  unacquainted  with 
botany,  and  had  never  heard  of  Linnoeus.  When  the  butter- 
flies passed,  Gigiio  knew  nothing  about  them,  being  as  ignorant 
of  entomology  as  I  am  of  algebra.  So  you  see,  Angelica, 
though  she  liked  Gigiio  pretty  well,  despised  him  on  account 
of  his  ignorance.  I  think  she  probably  valued  her  own  learning 
rather  too  much  ;  but  to  think  toa  well  of  one's  self  is  the  fault 
of  people  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes.  Finally,  when  nobody 
else  was  there,  AngeUca  liked  her  cousin  well  enough. 

King  Valoroso  was  very  deUcate  in  health,  and  withal  so 
fond  of  good  dinners  (which  were  prepared  for  him  by  his 


172 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


French  cook,  Marmitonio) , 
that  it  was  supposed  he  could 
not  Uve  long.  Now  the  idea 
of  anything  happening  to  the 
King  struck  the  artful  Prime 
Minister  and  the  designing 
old  lad^'-in- waiting  with  terror. 
For,  thought  Glumboso  and 
the  Countess,  ''when  Prince 
Giglio  marries  his  cousin  and 
comes  to  the  throne,  what  a 
pretty  position  we  shall  be 
in,  whom  he  dislikes,  and  who 
have  alwaj's  been  unkind  to 
him.  We  shall  lose  our  places 
in  a  trice  ;  Gruffanuff  will  have 
to  give  up  all  the  jewels,  laces, 
snuff-boxes,  rings, and  watches 
which  belonged  to  the  Queen, 
Giglio's  mother ;  and  Glumboso  will  be  forced  to  refund  two 
hundred  and  seventeen  thousand  millions,  nine  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  thousand,  four  hundred  and  thirty-nine  pounds 
thirteen  shillings  and  sixpence  halfpenny,  monc}'  left  to  Prince 
Giglio  by  his  poor  dear  father."  So  the  Lady  of  Honor  and 
the  Prime  Minister  hated  Giglio  because  they  had  done  him  a 
wrong  ;  and  these  unprincipled  people  invented  a  hundred  cruel 
stories  about  poor  Giglio,  in  order  to  influence  the  King,  Queen, 
and  Princess  against  him :  how  he  was  so  ignorant  that  he 
could  not  spell  the  commonest  words,  and  actuallj'  wrote 
Valoroso  Valloroso,  and  spelt  Angelica  with  two  /'s  ;  how  he 
drank  a  great  deal  too  much  wine  at  dinner,  and  was  alwaj's 
idling  in  the  stables  with  the  grooms ;  how  he  owed  ever 
so  much  money  at  the  pastry-cook's  and  the  haberdasher's  ; 
how  he  used  to  go  to  sleep  at  church  ;  how  he  was  fond  of 
playing  cards  with  the  pages.  So  did  the  Queen  like  playing 
cards  ;  so  did  the  King  go  to  sleep  at  church,  and  eat  and  drink 
too  much  ;  and,  if  (iiglio  owed  a  trifle  Ibr  tarts,  who  owed  him 
two  hundred  and  seventeen  thousand  millions,  nine  hundred 
and  eighty-seven  thousand,  foui*  hundred  nnd  thirty-nine  pounds 
thirteen  shillings  and  sixpence  halfpenny,  I  should  like  to  know? 
Detractors  and  talel)earers  (in  my  humble  opinion)  had  much 
better  look  at  home  All  this  ])ackbiting  and  slandering  had 
effect  ui)on  l*rinc(;ss  Angelica,  who  began  to  look  coldly  on  her 
cousin,  then  to  laugh  at  him  and  scorn  him  for  being  so  stupid, 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


173 


then  to  sneer  at  him  for  having  vulgar  associates  ;  and  at  Court 
balls,  dinners,  and  so  forth,  to  treat  him  so  unkindly  that  poor 
Giglio  became  quite  ill,  took  to  his  bed,  and  sent  for  the 
doctor. 

His  Majesty  King  Valoroso,  as 
we  have  seen,  had  his  own  reasons 
for  disliking  his  nephew  ;  and  as  for 
those  innocent  readers  who  ask  why  ? 
—  1  beg  (with  the  permission  of 
their  dear  parents)  to  refer  them  to 
Shakspeare's  pages,  where  they  will 
read  why  King  John  disliked  Prince 
Arthur.  With  the  Queen,  his  royal 
but  weak-minded  aunt,  when  Giglio 
was  out  of  sight  he  was  out  of  mind. 
While  she  had  her  whist  and  her 
evening-parties,  she  cared  for  little 
else. 

I  dare  sa}'  two  villains^  who  shall 
be  nameless,  wished  Doctor  Pildraf- 
to,  the  Court  Physician,  had  killed 
Giglio  right  out,  but  he  only  bled 
and  physicked  him  so  severely,  that 
the  Prince  was  kept  to  his  room  for 
several  months,  and  grew  as  thin  as 
a  post. 

Whilst  he  was  lying  sick  in  this  wa}',  there  came  to  the 
Court  of  Paflagonia  a  famous  painter,  whose  name  was  Toma«o 
Lorenzo,  and  who  was  Painter  in  Ordinary  to  the  King  of  Crim 
Tartary,  Paflagonia's  neighbor.  Tomaso  Lorenzo  painted  all 
the  Court,  who  were  delighted  with  his  works  ;  for  e*'en  Coun- 
tess Gruffanuff  looked  young  and  Glumboso  good-humored  in  his 
pictures.  He  flatters  ver}'  much,"  some  people  said.  Na}' ! " 
says  Princess  Angelica,  ''I  am  above  flatter}^  and  I  think  he 
did  not  make  my  picture  handsome  enough.  I  can't  bear  to 
hear  a  man  of  genius  unjustly  cried  down,  and  I  hope  my  dear 
papa  will  make  Lorenzo  a  knight  of  his  Order  of  the  Cucumber." 

The  Princess  Angelica,  although  the  courtiers  vowed  her 
Royal  Highness  could  draw  so  heauti fully  that  the  idea  of  her 
taking  lessons  was  absurd,  yet  chose  to  have  Lorenzo  for  a 
teacher,  and  it  was  wonderful,  as  long  as  she  painted  in  his 
studio^  what  beautiful  pictures  she  made  !  Some  of  the  per- 
formances were  engraved  for  the  '-Book  of  Beauty  :"  others 
were  sold  for  enormous  sums  at  Charity  Bazaars.    She  wrote 


174 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


the  signatures  under  the  draw- 
ings no  doubt,  but  I  think 
I  know  who  did  the  pictures 
—  this  artful  painter,  who  had 
come  witli  other  designs  on 
Angelica  than  merely  to  teach 
her  to  draw. 

One  day  Lorenzo  showed 
the  Princess  a  portrait  of  a 
young  man  in  armor,  with  fair 
hair  and  the  loveliest  blue 
eyes,  and  an  expression  at 
once  melanchol}^  and  interest- 
ing. 

"  Dear  Signor  Lorenzo, 
who  is  this?  "  asked  the  Prin- 
cess. 1  never  saw  an}'  one 
so  handsome,"  says  Countess 
Gruffanuff  (the  old  humbug). 

That,"  said  the  Painter, 
"  that,  madam,  is  the  portrait 
of  my  august  3'oung  master, 
his  Roj'al  Highness  Bulbo, 
Crown  Prince  of  Crim  Tar- 
tary,  Duke  of  Acroceraunia, 
Marquis  of  Poluphloisboio, 
and  Knight  Grand  Cross  of 
the  Order  of  the  Pumpkin. 
That  is  the  Order  of  the 
Pumpkin   glittering    on  his 

m  "    ^    ■  manly  breast,   and  received 

"  '  by  his  Roj'al  Highness  from 

his  august  father,  his  Majesty  King  Padella  I.,  for  his  gal- 
lantry at  the  battle  of  Rimbombamento,  when  he  slew  with  his 
own  princel}'  hand  the  King  of  Ograria  and  two  hundred  and 
eleven  giants  of  the  two  hundred  and  eighteen  who  formed 
the  King's  bod^-gnard.  Tlie  remainder  were  destro^'cd  by  the 
brave  Crim  Tartar  army  after  an  ()l)stinate  combat,  in  which 
the  Crim  Tartars  suffc^red  severely." 

What  a  Prince  !  "  thought  Angelica  :  so  brave  —  so  calm- 
looking  —  so  young  —  what  a  hero  !  " 

He  is  as  accomplished  as  he  is  brave,"  continued  the 
Court  Painter.  He  knows  all  langunges  perfectly:  sings  de- 
liciously  :  i>lays  ever}'  instrument:  composes  operas  which  have 


THE  HOSE  AND  THE  RING. 


175 


been  acted  a  thousand  nights  running  at  the  Imperial  Theatre 
of  Crim  Tartary,  and  danced  in  a  ballet  there  before  the  King 
and  Queen  ;  in  which  he  looked  so  beautiful,  that  his  cousin, 
the  lovely  daughter  of  the  King  of  Circassia,  died  for  love  of 
him." 


"Why  did  he  not  marry  the  poor  Princess?"  asked  An- 
gelica, with  a  sigh. 

''Because  they  were  frst-cousins,  madam,  and  the  clergv 
forbid  these  unions,"  said  the  Painter.  '^And,  besides,  the 
young  Prince  had  given  his  royal  heart  elsewhere.'' 

''  And  to  whom?"  asked  lier  Royal  Highness. 

"I  am  not  at  liberty  to  mention  the  Princess's  name,"  an- 
swered the  Painter' 


176 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


"  But  you  may  tell  me  the  first  letter  of  it,"  gasped  out  the 
Princess. 

''That  your  Royal  Highness  is  at  liberty  to  guess,"  says 
Lorenzo. 

''  Does  it  begin  with  a  Z?"  asked  Angelica. 

The  Painter  said  it  wasn't  a  Z  ;  then  she  tried  a  Y ;  then 
an  X ;  then  a  W,  and  went  so  backwards  through  almost  the 
whole  alphabet. 

When  she  came  to  D,  and  it  wasn't  D,  she  grew  very  much 
excited  ;  when  she  came  to  C,  and  it  wasn't  C,  she  was  still 
more  nervous  ;  when  she  came  to  B,  a7id  it  wasn't  Oh, 
dearest  Gruffanuff,"  she  said,  ''  lend  me  3'our  smelling-bottle  !  " 
and,  hiding  her  head  in  the  Countess's  shoulder,  she  faintly 
whispered,  ''Ah,  Signor,  can  it  be  A?" 

"  It  was  A  ;  and  though  I  ma}'  not,  by  my  Roj'al  Master's 
orders,  tell  your  Royal  Highness  the  Princess's  name,  whom 
he  fondly,  madly,  devotedly,  rapturousl}'  loves,  I  may  show 
you  her  portrait,"  says  the  slj^boots  :  and  leading  the  Princess 
up  to  a  gilt  frame,  he  drew  a  curtain  which  was  before  it. 

Oh  goodness !  the  frame  contained  a  looking-glass  !  and 
Angelica  saw  her  own  face ! 


VII. 

HOW  GIGLIO  AND  ANGELICA  HAD  A  QUARREL. 

The  Court  Painter  of  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Crim  Tartary 
returned  to  that  monarch's  dominions,  carrying  away  a  number 
of  sketches  wliich  he  had  made  in  the  Paflagonian  capital  (you 
know  of  course,  my  dears,  that  the  name  of  that  capital  is 
Blombodinga)  ;  but  the  most  cliarming  of  all  his  pieces  was  a 
portrait  of  tlie  Princess  Angelica,  which  all  the  Crim  Tartar 
nobles  came  to  see.  With  this  work  the  King  was  so  de- 
lighted, that  lui  d(icorated  the  Painter  with  his  Order  of  the 
Pumpkin  (sixth  class),  and  the  artist  became  Sir  Tomaso  Lo- 
renzo, K.P.,  th(!nceforth. 

King  Valoroso  also  sent  Sir  Tomaso  his  Order  of  the  Cu- 
cumlxir,  besides  a  handsome  order  for  rnonc}'  ;  for  he  painted 
the  King,  Quec^n,  and  pi'incipal  nobility  whWo  at  BU)rnbodinga, 
and  became  all  the  fashion,  to  the  perfect  rage  of  all  the  artists 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


177 


in  Paflagonia,  where  the  King  used  to  point  to  the  portrait  of 
Prince  Bulbo,  which  Sir  Tomaso  had  left  behind  him,  and  say, 
Which  among  you  can  paint  a  picture  Hke  that?" 

It  hung  in  the  ro3^al  parlor  over  the  ro3^al  sideboard,  and 
Princess  Angelica  could  always  look  at  it  as  she  sat  making 
the  tea.  Each  day  it  seemed  to  grow  handsomer  and  hand- 
somer, and  the  Princess  grew  so  fond  of  looking  at  it,  that  she 
would  often  spill  the  tea  over  the  cloth,  at  wliich  her  father 
and  mother  would  wink  and  wag  their  heads  ;  and  say  to  each 
other,     Aha  !  we  see  how  things  are  going.'' 

In  the  meanwhile  poor  Giglio  la}^  up  stairs  very  sick  in  his 
chamber,  though  he  took  all  the  Doctor's  horrible  medicines 
like  a  good  young  lad  :  as  I  hope  you  do,  m}'  dears,  when  3'ou 
are  ill  and  mamma  sends  for  the  medical  man.  And  the  onl}' 
person  who  visited  Giglio  (besides  his  friend  the  Captain  of 
the  Guard,  who  was  almost  always  busy  or  on  parade)  was 
little  Betsinda  the  housemaid,  who  used  to  do  his  bedroom 
and  sitting-room  out,  bring  him  his  gruel,  and  warm  his  bed. 

When  the  little  housemaid  came  to  him  in  the  morning  and 
evening.  Prince  Giglio  used  to  sa}'^,  ''Betsinda,  Betsinda,  how 
is  the  Princess  Angelica  ?  " 

And  Betsinda  used  to  answer,  "  The  Princess  is  ver}^  well, 
thank  you,  my  lord."  And  Giglio  would  heave  a  sigh,  and 
think,  ''If  Angelica  were  sick,  I  am  sure  /  should  not  be  very 
well." 

Then  Giglio  would  say,  "Betsinda,  has  the  Princess  An- 
gelica asked  for  me  to-day?"  And  Betsinda  would  answer, 
"No,  m}'  lord,  not  to-da}^ ; "  or,  "She  was  ver}' bus}*  practis- 
ing the  piano  when  I  saw  her;"  or  "  She  was  writing  in- 
vitations for  an  evening-party,  and  did  not  speak  to  me  ; "  or 
make  some  excuse  or  other,  not  strictl}*  consonant  with  truth : 
for  Betsinda  was  such  a  good-natured  creature,  that  she  strove 
to  do  everything  to  prevent  annoyance  to  Prince  Giglio,  and 
even  brought  him  up  roast-chicken  and  jellies  from  the  kitchen 
when  the  Doctor  allowed  them,  and  Giglio  was  getting  better) , 
saying  "that  the  princess  had  made  the  jelly,  or  the  bread- 
sauce,  with  her  own  hands,  on  purpose  for  Gigho." 

When  Giglio  heard  this  he  took  heart,  and  began  to  mend 
immediately  ;  and  gobbled  up  all  the  jelly,  and  picked  the  last 
bone  of  the  chicken  —  drumsticks,  meny-tliought,  sides'-bones, 
back,  pope's-nose,  and  ah  —  thanking  his  dear  Angelica  :  and 
he  felt  so  much  better  the  next  day,  that  he  dressed  and  went 
down  stairs  —  where  whom  should  he  meet  but  Angelica  go- 
ing into  the  drawing-room?    All  the  covers  were  off  the  chairs, 

12 


178 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


the  chandeliers  taken  out  of  the  bags,  the  damask  curtains  un- 
covered, the  work  and  things  carried  away,  and  the  hand- 
somest albums  on  the  tables.  Angelica  had  her  hair  in  papers. 
In  a  word,  it  was  evident  there  was  going  to  be  a  party. 

''Heavens,  Giglio  !  "  cries  Angelica :  you  here  in  such  a 
dress  !    What  a  figure  3'ou  are  !  " 

''Yes,  dear  Angelica,  I  am  come  down  stairs,  and  feel  so 
well  to-day,  thanks  to  the  fowl  and  the  jelly  ^ 

"  What  do  I  know  about  fowls  and  jellies,  that  you  allude 
to  them  in  that  rude  way  ?  "  says  Angelica. 

"Why,  didn't — didn't  you  send  them,  Angelica  dear?" 
says  GigUo. 

"  I  send  them  indeed  !  Angelica  dear  !  No,  Giglio  dear," 
sa3's  she,  mocking  him.  "  /was  engaged  in  getting  the  rooms 
read}'  for  his  Roj^al  Highness  the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary,  who 
is  coming  to  pa}'  my  papa's  court  a  visit." 

"  The  —  Prince  —  of  —  Crim  —  Tartary  !  "  Giglio  said, 
aghast. 

"Yes,  the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary,"  says  Angelica,  mock- 
ing him.  "I  dare  say  you  never  heard  of  such  a  country. 
What  did  you  ever  hear  of?  You  don't  know  whether  Crim 
Tartary  is  on  the  Red  Sea,  or  on  the  Black  Sea,  I  dare  say." 

"Yes,  I  do:  it's  on  the  Red  Sea,"  says  Giglio;  at  which 
the  Princess  burst  out  laughing  at  him,  and  said,  "Oh,  you 
ninny !  You  are  so  ignorant,  you  are  really  not  fit  for  society  I 
You  know  nothing  but  about  horses  and  dogs,  and  are  only 
fit  to  dine  in  a  mess-room  with  my  Royal  Father's  heaviest 
dragoons.  Don't  look  so  surprised  at  me,  sir:  go  and  put 
your  best  clothes  on  to  receive  the  Prince,  and  let  me  get  the 
drawing-room  ready." 

Giglio  said,  "  Oh,  Angelica,  Angelica,  I  didn't  think  this  of 
you.  This  wasn't  your  language  to  me  when  you  gave  me  this 
ring,  and  I  gave  you  mine  in  the  garden,  and  you  gave  me  that 
k —  " 

But  what  k —  was  we  never  shall  know,  for  Angelica,  in  a 
rage,  cried,  "Get  out,  you  saucy,  rude  creature!  How  dare 
you  to  remind  me  of  your  rudeness  !  As  for  your  little  trump- 
ery twopenny  ring,  there,  sir  —  there!"  And  she  flung  it  out 
of  th(;  window, 

"  It  was  my  mother's  marriage-ring,"  cried  Giglio. 

"  /  don't  care  whose  marriage-ring  it  was,"  cries  Angelica. 
"  Marry  the  p(;rson  who  picks  it  up  if  slug's  a  woman  ;  you  shan't 
marry  mo,.  And  give;  me  back  imj  ring.  I've  no  patience  with 
people  who  boast  about  the  things  they  give  away.    /  know 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


179 


who^ll  give  me  much  finer  things  than  you  ever  gave  me.  A 
beggarl}^  ring  indeed,  not  worth  five  shillings  !  " 

Now  Angelica  little  knew  that  the  ring  which  Giglio  had 
given  her  was  a  fairy  ring ;  if  a  man  wore  it,  it  made  all  the 
women  in  love  with  him  ;  if  a  woman,  all  the  gentlemen.  The 
Queen,  Giglio's  mother,  quite  an  ordinary -looking  person,  was 
admired  immensely'  whilst  she  wore  this  ring,  and  her  husband 
was  frantic  when  she  was  ill.  But  when  she  called  her  little 
Giglio  to  her,  and  put  the  ring  on  his  finger.  King  Savio  did 
not  seem  to  care  for  his  wife  so  much  any  more,  but  transferred 
all  his  love  to  little  Giglio.  So  did  everybod}^  love  him  as  long- 
as  he  had  the  ring;  but  when,  as  quite  a  child,  he  gave  it  to 
Angelica,  people  began  to  love  and  admire  hei^ ;  and  Giglio,  as 
the  saying  is,  played  only  second  fiddle. 

"  Yes,"  says  Angelica,  going  on  in  her  foolish  ungrateful 
waj^  ''/know  who'll  give  me  much  finer  things  than  your  beg- 
garly little  pearl  nonsense." 

''Very  good,  miss!  You  ma}^  take  back  your  ring,  tool" 
sa^'S  Giglio,  his  eyes  flashing  fire  at  her ;  and  then,  as  if  his 
ej'es  had  been  suddenly  opened,  he  cried  out,  "  Ha  !  what  does 
this  mean?  Is  this  the  woman  I  have  been  in  love  with  all 
my  life?  Have  I  been  such  a  ninny  as  to  throw  awa}'  my 
regard  upon  you^  Why  —  actuallj'  —  yes  —  you  are  a  little 
crooked !  " 

"  Oh,  you  wretch  ! "  cries  Angelica. 

"And,  upon  my  conscience,  you 

—  you  squint  a  little." 
"  Eh  !  "  cries  Angelica. 
"  And  your  hair   is    red  —  and 

you  are  marked  with  the  small-pox  — 
and  what?  3'ou  have  three  false  teeth 

—  and    one    leg   shorter   than  the 
other ! " 

"You  brute,  3'ou  brute,  3'ou ! " 
Angelica  screamed  out :  and  as  she 
seized  the  ring  with  one  hand, 
she  dealt  Giglio  one,  two,  three 
smacks  on  the  face,  and  would  have 
pulled  the  hair  ofi*  his  head  had 
he  not  started  laughing,  and  cr}^- 
ing, 

"Oh,  dear  me,  Angelica!  don't 
pull  out  my  hair,  it  hurts  !  You  might 
remove  a  great  deal     yoicr  own^  as  I 


180 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


perceive,  without  scissors  or  pulling  at  all.  Oh,  ho,  ho !  ha, 
ha,  ha  !  he,  he,  he  !  " 

And  he  nearly  choked  himself  with  laughing,  and  she 
with  rage  ;  when,  with  a  low  bow,  and  dressed  in  his  Court 
habit.  Count  Gambabella,  the  first  lord-in-waiting,  entered  and 
said,  ''Royal  Highnesses!  Their  Majesties  expect  3'ou  in 
the  Pink  Throne-room,  where  they  await  the  arrival  of  the 
Prince  of  Crim  Tartary." 


VIII. 

HOW  GRUFFANUFF  PICKED  THE  FAIRY  RING  UP,  AND  PRINCE 
BULBO  CAME  TO  COURT. 

Prince  Bulbo's  arrival  had  set  all  the  court  in  a  flutter : 
everybody  was  ordered  to  put  his  or  her  best  clothes  on  :  the 
footmen  had  their  gala  liveries  ;  the  Lord  Chancellor  his  new 
wig  :  the  Guards  their  last  new  tunics  ;  and  Countess  Gruff- 
anuff,  you  ma^^  be  sure,  was  glad  of  an  opportunit}'  of  deco- 
rating her  old  person  with  her  finest  thiugs.  She  was  walking 
through  the  court  of  the  Palace  on  her  way  to  wait  upon  their 
Majesties,  when  she  spied  something  glittering  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  bade  the  boy  in  buttons,  who  was  holding  up  her 
train,  to  go  and  pick  up  the  article  shining  yonder.  lie  was  an 
ugly  little  wretch,  in  some  of  the  late  groom-porter's  old  clothes 
cut  down,  and  much  too  tight  for  him  ;  and  yet,  when  he  had 
taken  up  the  ring  (as  it  turned  out  to  be),  and  was  carrying  it 
to  his  mistress,  she  thought  he  looked  like  a  little  Cupid.  He 
gave  the  ring  to  her ;  it  was  a  trumpery  little  thing  enough,  but 
too  small  for  any  of  her  old  knuckles,  so  she  put  it  into  her 
pocket. 

'K)h,  mum!"  says  the  boy,  looking  at  her,  -'how  —  how 
beyoutiful  you  do  look,  mum,  to-day,  mum  !  " 

''And  you,  too,  Jacky,''  she  was  going  to  say;  but,  look- 
ing down  at  him  —  no,  iie  was  no  longcM*  good-looking  at  all 
—  but  only  the  (;arroty-haired  littki  Jacky  of  the  morning. 
However,  praise  is  welcome  from  th(^  ugliest  of  men  or  boys, 
and  (iruffanuff,  bidding  the  boy  hold  up  her  train,  walked  on 
in  high  good-humor.  The  Guards  saluted  her  with  peculiar 
respect.    Captain  Iledzod',  in  the  ante-room,  said,  ''My  dear 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING.  181 

madam,  you  look  like  an  angel  to-day."  And  so,  bowing  and 
smirking,  Gruffanuff  went  in  and  took  her  place  behind  her 
Royal  Master  and  Mistress,  who  were  in  the  throne-room. 


awaiting  the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartarv.  Princess  Angelica  sat 
at  their  feet,  and  behind  the  King's  chair  stood  Prince  Giglio, 
looking  ver}'  savage. 

The  Prince  of  Crim  Tartarv  made  his  appearance,  attended 
by  Baron  Sleibootz,  his  chamberlain,  and  followed  by  a  black 
page,  carrying  the  most  beautiful  crown  you  ever  saw  !  He 
was  dressed  in  his  travelling  costume,  and  his  hair  was  a  little 
in  disorder.  ''I  have  ridden  three  hundred  miles  since  break- 
fast," said  he,  so  eager  was  I  to  behold  the  Prin  —  the  Conrt 
and  august  family  of  Paflagonia,  and  I  could  not  wait  one  min- 
ute before  appearing  in  your  Majesties'  presences." 


182 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


Giglio,  from  behind  the  throne,  burst  out  into  a  roar  of  con- 
temptuous laughter ;  but  all  the  Royal  part}^,  in  fact,  were  so 
flurried,  that  they  did  not  hear  this  little  outbreak.  "Your 
R.  H.  is  welcome  in  an}'  dress,"  says  the  King.  Gluraboso, 
a  chair  for  his  Roj'al  Highness." 

''Any  dress  his  Ro^^al  Highness  wears  is  sl  Court-dress," 
says  Princess  Angelica,  smiling  graciousl}'. 

"Ah!  but  3'ou  should  see  my  other  clothes,"  said  the 
Prince.  "  I  should  have  had  them  on,  but  that  stupid  carrier 
has  not  brought  them.    Who's  that  laughing?  " 

It  was  Giglio  laughing.  "I  was  laughing,"  he  said,  "  be- 
cause you  said  just  now  that  you  were  in  such  a  hurry  to  see 
the  Princess,  that  you  could  not  wait  to  change  your  dress  ; 
and  now  you  say  you  come  in  those  clothes  because  you  have 
no  others." 

"  And  who  are  you?"  sa3's  Prince  Bulbo,  ver}'  fiercel}'. 

"  My  father  was  King  of  this  country,  and  I  am  his  only 
son.  Prince  !  "  replies  Giglio,  with  equal  haughtiness. 

"  Ha !  "  said  the  King  and  Glumboso,  looking  very  flurried  ; 
but  the  former,  collecting  himself,  said,  "Dear  Prince  Bulbo, 
I  forgot  to  introduce  to  3'our  Royal  Highness  my  dear  nephew, 
his  Royal  Highness  Prince  Giglio  !  Know  each  other !  Em- 
brace each  other  !  Giglio,  give  liis  Ro^'al  Highness  3'our  hand  !  " 
And  Giglio,  giving  his  hand,  squeezed  poor  Bulbo's  until  the 
tears  ran  out  of  his  eyes.  Glumboso  now  brought  a  chair  for 
the  Royal  visitor,  and  placed  it  on  the  platform  on  which  the 
King,  (Jueen,  and  Prince  were  seated  ;  but  the  chair  was  on 
the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  as  Bulbo  sat  down,  it  toppled 
over,  and  he  with  it,  rolling  over  and  over,  and  bellowing  like 
a  bull.  Giglio  roared  still  louder  at  this  disaster,  but  it  was 
with  laughter ;  so  did  all  the  Court  when  Prince  Bulbo  got  up  ; 
for  though  when  he  entered  the  room  he  appeared  not  very 
ridiculous,  as  he  stood  up  from  his  fall,  for  a  moment,  he  looked 
so  exceedingly  plain  and  foolish  that  nobody  could  help  laugh- 
ing at  him.  When  he  had  entered  the  room,  he  was  observed 
to  carry  a  rose  in  his  hand,  whic^li  fell  out  of  it  as  he  tumbled. 

"My  rose!  my  rose  !"  cried  P>ulbo  ;  and  his  chamberlain 
dashed  forwards  and  picked  it  up,  and  gave  it  to  the  Prince, 
who  put  it  in  his  waistcoat.  Then  i)eoi)le  wondered  why  they 
had  laugh(;d  ;  ilntnt  was  nothing  particularly  ridiculous  in  him. 
lie  was  rather  short,  rather  stout,  rather  red-haired,  but,  in 
fine,  for  a  prince  not  so  had. 

So  they  sat  and  talkcnl,  tiie  royal  })ersonages  together,  the 
Crim  Tartar  officers  with  those  of  I'aflagonia  —  Giglio  very 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


183 


comfortable  with  Graffanuff  behind  the  throne.  He  looked  at 
her  with  such  tender  e3^es,  that  her  heart  was  all  in  a  flutter! 
"  Oh,  dear  Prince,"  she  said,  how  could  you  speak  so  haughtily 
in  presence  of  their  Majesties  ?  I  protest  I  thought  I  should 
have  fainted." 

"  I  should  have  caught  you  in  my  arms,"  said  Gigho,  look- 
ing raptures. 

Why  were  you  so  cruel  to  Prince  Bulbo,  dear  Prince?" 
sa3^s  Gruff. 

"  Because  I  hate  him,"  says  Gil. 

''You  are  jealous  of  him,  and  still  love  poor  Angelica," 
cries  Gruffanuff,  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

''I  did,  but  I  love  her  no  more  !  "  Giglio  cried.  ''  I  despise 
her !  Were  she  heiress  to  twenty  thousand  thrones,  I  would 
despise  her  and  scorn  her.  But  why  speak  of  thrones?  I 
have  lost  mine.  I  am  too  wxak  to  recover  it  —  I  am  alone,  and 
have  no  friend." 

"  Oh,  say  not  so,  dear  Prince  !  "  says  Gruffanuff. 

"  Besides,"  says  he,  ''I  am  so  happy  here  behind  the  throne, 
that  I  would  not  change  my  place,  no,  not  for  the  throne  of  the 
world  !  " 

' '  What  are  you  two  people 
chattering  about  there?"  says 
the  Queen,  who  was  rather 
good-natured,  tliough  not  over- 
burdened with  wisdom.  "It  is 
time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Giglio, 
show  Prince  Bulbo  to  his  room. 
Prince,  if  3'our  clothes  have  not 
come,  we  shall  be  very  happy  to 
see  3^ou  as  you  are."  But  when 
Prince  Bulbo  got  to  his  bedroom, 
his  luggage  was  there  and  un- 
packed ;  and  the  hairdresser  com- 
ing in,  cut  and  curled  him  entirely 
to  his  own  satisfaction  ;  and  when 
the  dinner-bell  rang,  the  royal 
compan}^  had  not  to  wait  above 
five-and-twent}^  minutes  until  Bul- 
bo appeared,  during  which  time 
the  King,  who  could  not  bear  to 
wait,  grew  as  sulky  as  possible. 
As  for  Giglio,  he  never  left  Madam 
Gruffanuff  all  this  time,  but  stood 


184 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


with  her  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  paying  her  compliments. 
At  length  the  groom  of  the  chambers  announced  his  Ro^'al  High- 
ness the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary  !  and  the  noble  company  went 
into  the  ro^al  dining-room.    It  was  quite  a  small  party;  only 


the  King  and  (^ueen,  the  Princess,  whom  Hulbo  took  out,  the 
two  Princes,  Countess  Gruffhnuff,  (Jhimboso  the  Prime  Minis- 
ter, and  Prince  Bulbo's  chamberUiin.  You  may  be  sure  the}^ 
had  a  very  good  dinner — let  every  boy  or  girl  think  of  what 
he  or  sh(i  Hkes  best,  and  fancy  it  on  the  table.* 

The  Piinccss  talked  incessantly  all  dinner-time  to  the 
Prince  of  Crim(\a,  who  ate  an  immense  deal  too  much,  and 
never  took  his  eyes  off  his  plate,  cxce[)t  when  Giglio,  who 

*  Here  a  very  j)rctty  j^anic  may  be  played  by  all  the  children  saying 
what  they  like  be«t  for  dinner. 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


185 


was  carving  a  goose,  sent  a  quantity  of  stuffing  and  onion- 
sauce  into  one  of  them.  Giglio  only  burst  out  a-laughing  as 
the  Crimean  Prince  wiped  his  shirt-front  and  face  with  his 
scented  pocket-handkerchief.  He  did  not  make  Prince  Bulbo 
any  apolog3\  When  the  Prince  looked  at  him,  Giglio  would 
not  look  that  way.  When  Prince  Bulbo  said,  Prince  Giglio, 
may  I  have  the  honor  of  taking  a  glass  of  wine  with  you  ?  " 
Giglio  wouldn't  answer.  All  his  talk  and  his  eyes  were  for 
Countess  Gruffanuff,  who,  you  may  be  sure,  was  pleased  with 
Giglio's  attentions  —  the  vain  old  creature  !  W' hen  he  was  not 
complimenting  her,  he  was  making  fun  of  Prince  Bulbo,  so 
loud  that  Gruffanuff  was  always  tapping  him  with  her  fan 
and  saying,  Oh,  you  satirical  Prince  !  Oh,  fie,  the  Prince  will 
hear!"  Well,  I  don't  mind,"  says  Giglio,  louder  still. 
The  King  and  Queen  luckily  did  not  hear ;  for  her  Majesty 
was  a  little  deaf,  and  the  King  thought  so  much  about  his 
own  dinner,  and,  besides,  made  such  a  dreadful  noise,  hob- 
gobbling  in  eating  it,  that  he  heard  nothing  else.  After 
dinner,  his  Majesty  and  the  Queen  went  to  sleep  in  their 
arm-chairs. 

This  was  the  time  when  Giglio  began  his  tricks  with  Prince 
Bulbo,  plying  that  young  gentleman  with  port,  sheny,  madeira, 
champagne,  marsala,  cherry-brandy  and  pale  ale,  of  all  of 
which  Master  Bulbo  drank  without  stint.  But  in  plying  his 
guest,  Giglio  was  obliged  to  drink  himself,  and  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  took  more  than  was  good  for  him,  so  that  the  young  men 
were  very  nois}',  rude,  and  foolish  when  they  joined  the  ladies 
after  dinner ;  and  dearly  did  the}'  pay  for  that  imprudence,  as 
now,  my  darlings,  you  shall  hear ! 

Bulbo  went  and  sat  by  the  piano,  where  Angelica  was 
playing  and  singing,  and  he  sang  out  of  tune,  and  he  upset  the 
coffee  when  the  footman  brought  it,  and  he  laughed  out  of 
place,  and  talked  absurdly,  and  fell  asleep  and  snored  horridly. 
Booh,  the  nasty  pig !  But  as  he  la}'  there  stretched  on  the 
pink  satin  sofa,  Angelica  still  persisted  in  thinking  him  the 
most  beautiful  of  human  beings.  No  doubt  the  magic  rose 
which  Bulbo  wore  caused  this  infatuation  on  Angelica's  part ; 
but  is  she  the  first  young  woman  who  has  thought  a  silly  fellow 
charming? 

Giglio  must  go  and  sit  by  Gruffanuff,  whose  old  face  he,  too. 
every  moment  began  to  find  more  lovely.  He  paid  the  most 
outrageous  compliments  to  her  :  —  There  never  was  such  a  dar- 
ling. Older  than  he  was  ?  —  Fiddle-de-dee  !  He  would  marry 
her  —  he  would,  have  nothing  but  her! 


186 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RIKG. 


To  marry  the  heir  to  the  throne !  Here  was  a  chance ! 
The  artful  hussy  actually  got  a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote  upon 
it,  ''This  is  to  give  notice  that  I,  Gigiio,  only  son  of  Savio, 
King  of  Paflagonia,  hereb}^  promise  to  marry  the  charming  and 
virtuous  Barbara  Griselda  Countess  Gruffanuff,  and  widow  of 
the  late  Jenkins  Gruffanuff,  Esq." 

''  What  is  it  you  are  writing,  3^ou  charming  Gruffy?"  says 
Gigiio,  who  was  lolling  on  the  sofa  by  the  writing-table. 

''Only  an  order  for  you  to  sign,  dear  Prince,  for  giving 
coals  and  blankets  to  the  poor,  this  cold  weather.  Look !  the 
King  and  Queen  are  both  asleep  and  your  Royal  Highnesses 
order  will  do." 

So  Gigiio,  who  was  very  good-natured,  as  Gruffy  well  knew, 
signed  the  order  immediatel}^ ;  and,  when  she  had  it  in  her 
pocket,  you  may  fancy  what  airs  she  gave  herself.  She  was 
ready  to  flounce  out  of  the  room  before  the  Queen  herself, 
as  now  she  was  the  wife  of  the  rightful  King  of  Paflagonia ! 
She  would  not  speak  to  Glumboso,  whom  she  thought  a  brute, 
for  depriving  her  dem-  husband  of  the  crown !  And  when 
candles  came,  and  she  had  helped  to  undress  the  Queen  and 


Princess,  slie  went  into  her  own  room,  and  actually  prac- 
tised, on  a  shoot  of  paper,  "  Griselda  Paflagonia,"  "  Barbara 
Rogina,"  "Griselda  Barbara,  Paf.  Reg.,"  and  I  don't  know 
what  signatures  besides,  against  the  day  when  she  should  be 
Queen  forsooth ! 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


187 


IX. 

HOW  BETSINDA  GOT  THE  WARMING-PAN. 

Little  Betsinda  came  in  to  put  Gruffanuff  s  hair  in  papers  ; 
and  the  Countess  was  so  pleased,  that,  for  a  wonder,  she  com- 
plimented Betsinda.  ''Betsinda!"  she  said,  ^'vou  dressed 
my  hair  very  nicely  to-day ;  I  promised  you  a  little  present. 
Here  are  five  sh —  no,  here  is  a  pretty  little  ring  that  I  picked 

—  that  I  have  had  some  time."  And  she  gave  Betsinda  the 
ring  she  had  picked  up  in  the  court.  It  fitted  Betsinda 
exactly. 

''It's  like  the  ring  the  Princess  used  to  wear,"  says  the 
maid. 

"  No  such  thing,"  says  Gruffanuff;  "  I  have  had  it  this  ever 
so  long.  There  —  tuck  me  up  quite  comfortable  :  and  now,  as 
it's  a  very  cold  night"  (the  snow  was  beating  in  at  the  window), 
"3^ou  may  go  and  warm  dear  Prince  Gigiio's  bed,  like  a  good 
girl,  and  then  you  may  unrip  my  green  silk,  and  then  you  can 
just  do  me  up  a  little  cap  for  the  morning,  and  then  you  can 
mend  that  hole  in  m}^  silk  stocking,  and  then  you  can  go  to 
bed,  Betsinda.  Mind,  I  shall  want  my  cup  of  tea  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning." 

"I  suppose  I  had  best  warm  both  the  young  gentlemen's 
beds,  ma'am?"  says  Betsinda. 

GruflTanuflT,  for  reply,  said,  "  Hau-au-ho  !  — Grau-haw-hoo  ! 

—  Hong-hrho  !  "    In  fact,  she  was  snoring  sound  asleep. 

Her  room,  you  know.Js  next  to  the  King  and  Queen,  and 
the  Princess  is  next  to  them.  So  pretty  Betsinda  went  away 
for  the  coals  to  the  kitchen,  and  filled  the  royal  w^arming-pan. 

Now  she  was  a  ver}'  kind,  merry,  civil,  pretty  girl;  but 
there  must  have  been  something  very  captivating  about  her  this 
evening,  for  all  the  women  in  the  servants'-hall  began  to  scold 
and  abuse  her.  The  housekeeper  said  she  w  as  a  pert,  stuck-up 
thing :  the  upper-housemaid  asked,  how  dare  she  wear  such 
ringlets  and  ribbons,  it  was  quite  improper !  The  cook  (for 
there  was  a  woman-cook  as  w^ell  as  a  man-cook)  said  to  the 
kitchen-maid  that  she  never  could  see  anything  in  that  creetur : 
but  as  for  the  men,  every  one  of  them.  Coachman,  John.  But- 
tons the  page,  and  Monsieur  the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary's  valet, 
started  up  and  said  — 


188 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


"  My  e^^es  !  ^ 

niusse}  .         ^hat  a  pretty  girl  Betsinda  is  ! " 

''Ociel!  ) 
Hands  off;  none  of  your  impertinence,  you  vulgar,  low 
people  !  "  says  Betsinda,  walking  off  with  her  pan  of  coals. 
She  heard  the  young  gentlemen  playing  at  billiards  as  she  went 
up  stairs  :  first  to  Prince  Gigiio's  bed,  which  she  warmed,  and 
then  to  Pi'ince  Bulbo's  room. 

He  came  in  just  as  she  had  done  ;  and  as  soon  as  he  saw 
her,  ''0!0!0!0!0!0!  what  a  beyou— oo— ootiful  crea- 
ture you  are  !  You  angel  —  you  Peri  —  3'ou  rosebud,  let  me  be 
thy  bulbul  —  thy  Bulbo,  too  !  Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me  ! 
I  never  saw  a  young  gazelle  to  glad  me  with  its  dark  blue  eye 
that  had  eyes  like  thine.  Thou  nj^mph  of  beauty,  take,  take 
this  young  heart.  A  truer  never  did  itself  sustain  within  a 
soldier's  waistcoat.  Be  mine !  Be  mine  !  Be  Princess  of 
Crim  Tartary  !  My  Royal  Father  will  approve  our  union  :  and 
as  for  that  little  carroty-haired  Angelica,  I  do  not  care  a  fig 
for  her  any  more." 

Go  away,  your  Royal  Highness,  and  go  to  bed,  please," 
said  Betsinda,  with  the  warming-pan. 

But  Bulbo  said,  '  No,  never,  till  thou  swearest  to  be  mine, 
thou  lovely,  blushing  chambermaid  divine!  Here,  at  thy 
feet,  the  royal  Bulbo  lies,  the  trembling  captive  of  Betsinda's 
eyes." 

And  he  went  on,  making  himself  so  absurd  and  ridicidons^ 
that  Betsinda,  who  was  full  of  fun,  gave  him  a  touch  with  the 
warming-pan,  which,  I  promise  you,  made  him  cr}^ O-o-o-o  !  " 
in  a  very  different  manner. 

Prince  Bulbo  made  such  a  noise  that  Prince  Giglio,  who 
heard  him  from  the  next  room,  came  in  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  As  soon  as  he  saw  what  was  taking  place,  Giglio,  in 
a  fuiT,  rushed  on  Bulbo,  kicked  him  in  the  rudest  manner  up 
to  the  ceiling,  and  went  on  kicking  him  till  his  hair  was  quite 
out  of  curl. 

Poor  Betsinda  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry  ;  the 
kicking  certainly  must  hurt  the  Prince,  but  then  he  looked  so 
droll!  When  (liglio  had  done  knocking  him  up  and  down  to 
the  ground,  and  whilst  lie  went  into  a  cornei*  rubbing  himself, 
what  do  you  think  (jliglio  does?  He  goes  down  on  his  own 
knees  to  Betsinda,  takes  her  hand,  begs  her  to  accept  his  heart, 
and  offers  to  mai  ry  lier  tliat  moment.  Fanc^y  Betsinda*s  con- 
dition, who  had  been  in  love  with  the  Prince  ever  since  she 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  KING. 


189 


first  saw  him  in  the  palace  garden,  when  she  was  quite  a  httle 
child. 

Oh,  divine  Betsinda  !  "  sa^'S  the  Prince,  how  have  I  hved 
fifteen  years  in  thy  company  without  seeing  th}'  perfections  ? 


What  woman  in  all  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America  —  nay, 
in  Austraha,  only  it  is  not  yet  discovered  —  can  presume  to  i>e 
thy  equal?  Angelica?  Pish!  Gruffanuff?  Phoo  I  The  Queen  ? 
Ha,  ha!  Thou  art  m)^  queen.  Thou  art  the  real  Angelica, 
because  thou  art  really  angelic." 

"Oh,  Prince!  I  am  but  a  poor  chambermaid,"  says  Bet- 
sinda, looking,  however,  very  much  pleased. 

Didst  thou  not  tend  me  in  my  sickness,  when  all  forsook 
me?"  continues  Giglio.  Did  not  thy  gentle  hand  smooth  my 
pillow,  and  bring  me  jelly  and  roast-chicken  ?  " 

''Yes,  dear  Prince,  I  did,"  says  Betsinda,  "and  I  sewed 
your  Royal  Highnesses  shirt-buttons  on  too,  if  you  please,  your 
Royal  Highness,"  cries  this  artless  maiden. 

When  poor  Prince  Bulbo,  who  was  now  madh'  in  love  with 


190 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


Betsinda,  heard  this  declaration,  when  he  saw  the  unmistak- 
able glances  which  she  flung  upon  GigUo,  Bulbo  began  to  cry 
bitterl}',  and  tore  quantities  of  hair  out  of  his  head,  till  it  all 
covered  the  room  like  so  much  tow. 

Betsinda  had  left  the  warming-pan  on  the  floor  while  the 
Princes  were  going  on  with  their  conversation,  and  as  they  began 
now  to  quarrel  and  be  very  fierce  with  one  another,  she  thought 
proper  to  run  awa\\ 

You  great  big  blubbering  boob}^,  tearing  your  hair  in  the 
corner  there  !  of  course  you  will  give  me  satisfaction  for  insult- 
ing Betsinda.  Tou  dare  to  kneel  down  at  Princess  Giglio's 
knees  and  kiss  her  hand  !  " 

"  She's  not  Princess  Giglio  !  "  roars  out  Bulbo.  "  She  shall 
be  Princess  Bulbo,  no  other  shall  be  Princess  Bulbo.'' 

"  You  are  engaged  to  m}^  cousin  !  "  bellows  out  Giglio. 

"  I  hate  your  cousin,"  says  Bulbo. 

"You  shall  give  me  satisfaction  for  insulting  her!"  cries 
Giglio  in  a  fur3\ 

ril  have  your  life." 

"  I'll  run  you  through." 
I'll  cut  3' our  throat." 

"  I'll  blow  your  brains  out." 

"  I'll  knock  your  head  ofl"." 

''I'll  send  a  friend  to  you  in  the  morning." 

"  I'll  send  a  bullet  into  you  in  the  afternoon." 

''  We'll  meet  again,"  says  Giglio,  shaking  his  fist  in  Bulbo's 
face  ;  and  seizing  up  the  warming-pan,  he  kissed  it,  because, 
forsooth,  Betsinda  had  carried  it,  and  rushed  down  stairs. 
What  should  he  see  on  the  landing  but  his  Majesty  talking  to 
Betsinda,  whom  he  called  by  all  sorts  of  fond  names.  His 
Majesty  had  heard  a  row  in  the  building,  so  he  stated,  and 
smelling  something  burning,  had  come  out  to  see  what  the 
matter  was. 

'Mt's  the  young  gentlemen  smoking,  perhaps,  sir,"  says 
Betsinda. 

''Charming  chambermaid,"  says  the  King  (like  all  the  rest 
of  tliem),  "  never  mind  the  young  men  !  Turn  thy  eyes  on  a 
mid(ll(^-nged  autocrat,  who  has  b(H'n  considered  not  ill-looking 
in  his  time." 

'^Oh,  sir!  what  will  her  Majesty  say?"  cries  Betsinda. 

"Her  Majesty!"  laughs  the  monarcth.  "Her  Majesty  be 
hanged!  Am  I  not  Autocrat  of  l^aflagonia?  Have  I  not 
])locks,  ropes,  axes,  hangmen  —  ha?  Runs  not  a  river  b}-  my 
palace  wall?    Have  I  not  sacks  to  sew  up  wives  withal?  Say 


The  Rivals 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  Of  ILLINOIS 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


191 


but  the  word,  that  thou  wilt  be  mine  own, — your  mistress 
straightway  in  a  sack  is  sewn,  and  thou  the  sharer  of  my  heart 
and  throne." 

When  Giglio  heard  these  atrocious  sentiments,  he  forgot  the 
respect  usually  paid  to  Royalty,  lifted  up  the  warming-pan,  and 


knocked  down  the  King  as  flat  as  a  pancake  ;  after  wliich, 
Master  Giglio  took  to  his  heels  and  ran  away,  and  Betsinda 
w^ent  ofl*  screaming,  and  the  Queen,  Gruffanuff,  and  the  Prin- 
cess, all  came  out  of  their  rooms.  Fancy  their  feelings  on  be- 
holding their  husband,  father,  sovereign,  in  this  posture  ! 


192 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


X. 


HOW  KING  VALOROSO  WAS  IN  A  DREADFUL  PASSION. 

As  soon  as  the  coals  began  to  burn  him,  the  King  came  to 
himself  and  stood  up.  '^Ho!  my  Captain  of  the  Guards!'* 
his  Majesty  exclaimed,  stamping  his  royal  feet  with  rage.  O 
piteous  spectacle  !  the  King's  nose  was  bent  quite  crooked  by 


warming-pan  !  Away,  no  more  demur,  the  villain  dies !  See 
it  be  done,  or  else  —  li'm  !  —  ha  !  —  h'm  !  muid  thine  own  eyes  !  " 
And  followed  by  the  ladies,  and  lifting  up  the  tails  of  his 
dressing-gown,  the  King  entered  liis  own  apartment. 

Captain  Ilcdzofl'  was  very  much  affected,  having  a  sincere 
love  for  Giglio.  ''  Poor,  poor  (jligho!"  lie  said,  the  tears 
rolling  over  his  manly  face,  and  drii)ping  down  his  moustaches. 

My  noble  young  Prince,  is  it  my  hand  nuist  lead  thee  to 
deatii  ?  "  * 

"Lead  him  to  fiddlestick,  Iledzoff,"  said  a  female  voice. 
It  was  (iruffanufr,  who  hnd  corni;  out  in  her  dr(^ssing-gown 
when  she  heard  the  noise.    "The  King  said  you  were  to 


I 


the  blow  of  Prince 
Giglio!  His  Ma- 
jest}'  ground  his 
teeth  with  rage. 
"Hedzoff,"  he 
said,  taking  a 
death-warrant  out 
of  his  dressing- 
gown  pocket,  — 
"  Hedzoff,  good 
Hedzoff,  seize  uj)on 
the  Prince.  Thou'lt 
find  him  in  his 
chamber  two  pair 
up.  But  now  he 
dared,  with  sacri- 
legious hand,  to 
strike  the  sacred 
nightcap  of  a  king 
—  Hedzof!',  and 
floor   me  with  a 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


193 


hang  the  Prince.     Well,  hang  the 
Prince." 

''I  don't  understand  3^ou,"  says 
Hedzoff,  who  was  not  a  ver}^  clever 
man. 

You  Gaby  I  he  didn't  say  which 
Prince,"  says  Gruffanuff. 

''No;  he  didn't  say  which,  cer- 
tainly," said  HedzofF. 

''Well,  then,  take  Bulbo,  and 
hang  him  !  " 

When  Captain  Hedzoff  heard  this, 
he  began  to  dance  about  for  ]oy,  "  Obe- 
dience is  a  soldier's  honor,"  sa3'S  he. 
"  Prince  Bulbo's  head  will  do  capi- 
tally :  "  and  he  went  to  arrest  the 
Prince  the  very  lirst  thing  next  morn- 
ing. 

He  knocked  at  the  door.  "  Who's 
there?"  says  Bulbo.  "Captain 
Hedzoff  ?  Step  in,  pray,  my  good 
Captain  ;  Fm  deUghted  to  see  you  ; 
I  have  been  expecting  you." 

"  Have  3'ou?  "  says  Hedzoff. 

"  Sleibootz,  my  Chamberlain,  will  act  for  me,"  says  the 
Prince. 

"  I  beg  your  Royal  Highness's  pardon,  but  you  will  have  to 
act  for  yourself,  and  ii's  a  pity  to  wake  Baron  Sleibootz." 

The  Prince  Bulbo  still  seemed  to  take  the  matter  very  cooll}'. 
"  Of  course.  Captain,"  sa3's  he,  "  you  are  come  about  that  affair 
with  Prince  Giglio  ?  " 

"  Precisel}',"  sa3^s  Hedzoff:  "  that  affair  of  Prince  Giglio." 

"Is  it  to  be  pistols,  or  swords,  Captain?"  asks  Bulbo. 
"  I'm  a  prett3^  good  hand  with  both,  and  I'll  do  for  Prince 
Giglio  as  sure  as  m3^  name  is  m3^  Ro3'al  Highness  Prince 
Bulbo." 

"  There's  some  mistake,  m3^  lord,"  sa3's  the  Captain.  "  The 
business  is  done  with  axes  among  us." 

"Axes?  That's  sharp  work,"  says  Bulbo.  "Call  my 
Chamberlain,  he'll  be  m3'  second,  and  in  ten  minutes  I  flatter 
myself  3'ou'll  see  Master  Giglio's  head  off  his  impertinent 
shoulders.  I'm  hungry  for  his  blood.  Hoo-00 — aw !  "  and 
he  looked  as  savage  as  an  ogre. 

13 


194 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  by  this  warrant  I  am  to  take 
3"0u  prisoner,  and  hand  you  over  to  —  to  the  executioner." 

Pooh,  pooh,  my  good  man  !  —  Stop,  I  say,  —  ho  !  —  hul- 
loa  !  "  was  all  that  tliis  luckless  Prince  was  enabled  to  say :  for 


Hedzoffs  guards  seizing  him,  tied  a  handkerchief  over  his 
month  and  facci,  and  carried  liim  to  the  place  of  execution. 

The  King,  who  happened  to  l)e  talking  to  Ghunboso,  saw 
him  pass,  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  said,  So  much  for 
Giglio.    Now  k;t's  go  to  l)rcakfast." 

Tlic  Cai)tain  of  th(»  (hiard  handed  over  his  prisoner  to  the 
Sheriff,  with  the  fatal  order. 

"  At  sight  cut  off  the  bearer's  head. 

"  Valoroso  XXIV." 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


195 


"  It's  a  mistake,"  says  Bulbo,  who  did  not  seem  to  under- 
stand the  business  in  the  least. 

Poo — poo — pooh,"  says  the  Sheriff.  Fetch  Jack  Ketch 
instantly.    Jack  Ketch  !  " 

And  poor  Bulbo  was  led  to  the  scaffold,  where  an  executioner 
with  a  block  and  a  tremendous  axe  was  always  ready  in  case 
he  should  be  wanted. 

But  we  must  now  revert  to  Giglio  and  Betsinda. 


XI. 

WHAT  GRUFF ANUFF  DID  TO  GIGLIO  AND  BETSINDA. 

Gruffanuff,  who  had  seen  what  had  happened  with  the 
King,  and  knew  that  Giglio  must  come  to  grief,  got  up  very 
early  the  next  morning,  and  went  to  devise  some  plans  for 
rescuing  her  darling  husband,  as  the  silly  old  thing  insisted  on 
calling  him.  She  found  him  walking  up  and  down  the  garden, 
thinking  of  a  rhyme  for  Betsinda  {tinder  and  winda  were  all  he 
could  find),  and  indeed  having  forgotten  all  about  the  past 
evening,  except  that  Betsinda  was  the  most  lovely  of  beings. 
Well,  dear  Giglio?"  says  Gruff. 

"Well,  dear  Gruffy?"  says  Giglio,  only  he  was  quite 
satirical. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  darling,  what  3'ou  must  do  in  this 
scrape.    You  must  fly  the  country  for  a  while." 

''What  scrape?  —  fly  the  country?  Never  without  her  I 
love.  Countess,"  says  Giglio. 

"  No,  she  will  accompan}^  you,  dear  Prince,"  she  sa3's  in  her 
most  coaxing  accents.  ''  First,  we  must  get  the  jewels  belong- 
ing to  our  ro3'al  parents,  and  those  of  her  and  his  present 
Majesty.  Here  is  the  key,  duck  ;  the}^  are  all  yours,  3'ou  know, 
b}^  right,  for  you  are  the  rightful  King  of  Paflagonia,  and  your 
wife  will  be  the  rightful  Queen." 
Will  she?"  says  Giglio. 

"  Yes  ;  and  having  got  the  jewels,  go  to  Glumboso's  apart- 
ment, where,  under  his  bed,  vou  will  find  sacks  containing 
money  to  the  amount  of  £21 7*000.000,987,439  135.  ^d.,  all 
belonging  to  you,  for  he  took  it  out  of  3^our  ro3'al  father's  room 
pn  the  day  of  his  death.    With  this  we  will  fly." 


196 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  KING. 


We  will  fly  ?  "  says  Giglio. 

"Yes,  3'oa  and  3'oar  bride — your  aflfiianced  love  —  your 
Gruffy  !  "  says  the  Countess,  with  a  languishing  leer. 

"  Fou  my  bride!"  ssljs  Giglio.  ''You,  you  hideous  old 
woman  !  " 

Oh,  you  —  you  wretch!  didn't  you  give  me  this  paper 
promising  marriage?"  cries  Gruff. 


"  Get  awa) ,  vou  old  goose  !  I  love  Betsinda,  and  Betsinda 
onl\' ! "  And  in  a  fit  of  terror  he  ran  from  her  as  quickly  as 
he  could. 

"  He  !  he  !  he  !  "  shrieks  out  Grnff ;  "  a  promise  is  a  prom- 
ise, if  there  are  laws  in  Paflagonia  !  And  as  for  that  monster, 
that  wretch,  that  fiend,  that  ugly  little  vixen  —  as  for  that 
upstart,  that  ingi'atc^  that  beast  Betsinda,  Master  Giglio  will 
have  no  little  (lifrKuilty  in  discovering  her  whereabouts.  He 
may  look  very  long  before  finding  her^  I  warrant.  He  little 
knows  that  Miss  Betsinda  is  —  " 

Is  —  what?  Now,  3'ou  shall  hear.  Poor  Betsinda  got  up 
at  five  in  winter's  morning  to  bring  her  cruel  mistress  her  tea ; 
and  instead  of  finding  her  in  a  good  humor,  found  Gruffy  as 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


197 


cross  as  two  sticks.  The  Countess  boxed  Betsinda's  ears  half 
a  dozen  times  whilst  she  was  dressing ;  but  as  poor  little 
Betsinda  was  used  to  this  kind  of  treatment,  she  did  not  feel 
any  special  alarm.  And  now,"  says  she,  ''  when  her  Majesty 
rings  her  bell  twice,  I'll  trouble  you,  miss,  to  attend." 

80  when  the  Queen's  bell  rang  twice,  Betsinda  came  to  her 
Majesty  and  made  a  pretty  little  curtsy.  The  Queen,  the 
Princess,  and  GrufFanuff  were  all  three  in  the  room.  As  soon 
as  they  saw  her  they  began. 

''  You  wretch  !  "  says  the  Queen. 

"  You  little  vulgar  thing !  "  said  the  Princess. 

''  You  beast !  "  says  GrulTanuff. 

"  Get  out  of  my  sight !  "  says  the  Queen. 
Go  away  with  3'ou,  do  !  "  says  the  Princess. 

''  Quit  the  premises  !  "  says  GrufFanuff. 

Alas  !  and  woe  is  me  !  very  lamentable  events  had  occurred 
to  Betsinda  that  morning,  and  all  in  consequence  of  that  fatal 
warming-pan  business  of  the  previous  night.  The  King  had 
offered  to  marry  her ;  of  course  her  Majesty  the  Queen  was 
jealous :  Bulbo  had  fallen  in  love  with  her ;  of  course  Angehca 
was  furious :  Giglio  was  in  love  with  her,  and  oh,  what  a  ftuy 
Gruff}^  was  in ! 

-  Take  off  that    |     petticoat     |  ^  ^^^nTonce^'^' 
(      gown  3        ^  ^ 

and  began  tearing  the  clothes  off  poor  Betsinda. 

''How  dare  ^ou    (  ^^^^  King?"         "1  cried  the  Queen,  the 
iirrwith^  ]  ^^^^^^^  Bulbo?"    >-      Princess,  and 

(  Prince  Giglio?  "   )  Countess. 
"  Give  her  the  rags  she  wore  when  she  came  into  the  house, 
and  turn  her  out  of  it !  "  cries  the  Queen. 

Mind  she  does  not  go  with  my  shoes  on,  which  I  lent  her 
so  kindly,"  says  the  Princess  ;  and  indeed  the  Princess's  shoes 
were  a  great  deal  too  big  for  Betsinda. 

''Come  with  me,  3'ou  filth}'  hussy!"  and  taking  up  the 
Queen's  poker,  the  cruel  GrufFanuff  drove  Betsinda  into  her 
room. 

The  Countess  went  to  the  glass  box  in  which  she  had  kept 
Betsinda's  old  cloak  and  shoe  this  ever  so  long,  and  said, 
"Take  those  rags,  you  little  beggar  creature,  and  strip  off 
everything  belonging  to  honest  people,  and  go  about  your 
business."  And  she  actually  tore  off  the  poor  little  delicate 
thing's  back  almost  all  her  things,  and  told  her  to  be  off  out  of 
the  house. 


198 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


Poor  Betsinda  huddled  the  cloak  round  her  back,  on  which 
were  embroidered  the  letters  prin  ....  rosal  .  .  and  then 
came  a  great  rent. 

As  for  the  shoe,  what  was  she  to  do  with  one  poor  little 
tootse}^  sandal  ?  The  string  was  still  to  it,  so  she  hung  it  round 
her  neck. 


Won't  you  give  ine  a  pair  of  shoes  to  go  out  in  the  snow, 
mum,  if  you  please,  inum?"  cried  the  poor  child. 

No,  you  wicked  beast !  "  says  GrufTanuif,  driving  her  along 
with  the  poker  —  driving  her  (lovvn  tlie  cold  stairs  —  driving 
her  through  the  cold  hall  —  flinging  her  out  into  the  cold  street, 
so  that  the  knocker  itself  shed  tears  to  see  her ! 

But  a  kind  Fairy  made  the  soft  snow  warm  for  her  little 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


199 


feet,  and  she  wrapped  herself  up  in  the  ermine  of  her  mantle, 
and  was  gone ! 

"And  now  let  us  think  about  breakfast,"  says  the  greedy 
Queen. 

What  dress  shall  I  put  on,  mamma?  the  pink  or  the  pea- 
green?  "  says  Angelica.  Which  do  you  think  the  dear  Prince 
will  like  best?" 

''Mrs.  v.!"  sings  out  the  King  from  his  dressing-room, 
"let  us  have  sausages  for  breakfast!  Remember  we  have 
Prince  Bulbo  staying  with  us  !  " 

And  they  all  went  to  get  read}'. 

Nine  o'clock  came,  and  the\'  were  all  in  the  breakfast-room, 
and  no  Prince  Bulbo  as  yet.  The  urn  was  hissing  and  hum- 
ming :  the  muffins  were  smoking  —  such  a  heap  of  muffins  !  the 
eggs  were  done  :  there  was  a  pot  of  raspberry  jam,  and  coffee, 
and  a  beautiful  chicken  and  tongue  on  the  side- table.  Marmi- 
tonio  the  cook  brought  in  the  sausages.  Oh,  how  nice  they 
smelt ! 

"Where  is  Bulbo?"  said  the  King.  "John,  where  is  his 
Royal  Highness  ?  " 

John  said  he  had  a  took  up  his  Roilighnessesses  shaving- 
water,  and  his  clothes  and  things,  and  he  wasn't  in  his  room, 
which  he  sposed  his  Royliness  was  just  stepped  hout. 

"  Stepped  out  before  breakfast  in  the  snow  !  Impossible  !  " 
says  the  King,  sticking  his  fork  into  a  sausage.  "My  dear, 
take  one.  Angelica,  won't  you  have  a  saveloy?"  The  Princess 
took  one,  being  very  fond  of  them  ;  and  at  this  moment  Glum- 
boso  entered  with  Captain  Hedzoff,  both  looking  very  much 
disturbed.  "I  am  afraid  your  Majesty  — "  cries  Glumboso. 
"No  business  before  breakfast,  Glum!"  says  the  King. 
"  Breakfast  first,  business  next.    Mrs.  V.,  some  more  sugar  !  " 

"  Sire,  I  am  afraid  if  we  wait  till  after  breakfast  it  will  be 
too  late,"  says  Glumboso.  "  He — he — he'll  be  hanged  at  half- 
past  nine." 

"  Don't  talk  about  hanging  and  spoil  my  breakfast,  you 
unkind  vulgar  man  you,"  cries  the  Princess.  "John,  some 
mustard.    Pray  who^^is  to  be  hanged  ?  " 

"  Sire,  it  is  the  Prince,"  whispers  Glumboso  to  the  King. 

"Talk  about  business  after  breakfast,  I  tell  you!"  says 
his  Majesty,  quite  sulky. 

"  We  shall  have  a  war,  Sire,  depend  on  it,"  says  the  Minis- 
ter.   "  His  father.  King  Padella  .  .  .  ." 

"  His  father,  King  ivhoV  says  the  King.    "King  Padella 


200 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


is  not  Giglio's  father.  My  brother,  King  Savio,  was  Giglio's 
father." 

"  It's  Prince  Bulbo  they  are  hanging,  Sire,  not  Prince  Gig- 
lio,"  says  the  Prime  Minister. 

''You  told  me  to  hang  the  Prince,  and  I  took  the  ugly 
one,"  sa^'s  HedzofF.  ''  I  didn't,  of  course,  think  your  Majesty 
intended  to  murder  your  own  flesh  and  blood  !  " 

The  King  for  all  reply  flung  the  plate  of  sausages  at  Hedz- 
oflfs  head.  The  Princess  cried  out,  '' Hee-karee-karee  !  "  and 
fell  down  in  a  fainting-fit. 

''Turn  the  cock  of  the  urn  upon  her  Royal  Highness," 
said  the  King,  and  the  boiUng  water  gradually  revived  her^. 
His  Majesty  looked  at  his  watch,  compared  it  by  the  clock  in 
the  parlor,  and  by  that  of  the  church  in  the  square  opposite ; 
then  he  wound  it  up;  then  he  looked  at  it  again.  "The 
great  question  is,"  says  he,  "  am  I  fast  or  am  I  slow?  If  I'm 
slow,  we  maj'  as  well  go  on  with  breakfast.  If  I'm  fast,  wh}', 
there  is  just  the  possibility  of  saving  Prince  Bulbo.  It's  a 
doosid  awkward  mistake,  and  upon  my  word,  HedzoflT,  I  have 
the  greatest  mind  to  have  you  hanged  too." 

"  Sire,  I  did  but  my  dut}^ :  a  soldier  has  but  his  orders.  I 
didn't  expect,  after  forty-seven  years  of  faithful  service,  that 
my  sovereign  would  think  of  putting  me  to  a  felon's  death !  " 

"A  hundred  thousand  plagues  upon  3^ou  !  Can't  you  see 
that  while  you  are  talking  my  Bulbo  is  being  hung?"  screamed 
the  Princess. 

"  By  Jove  !  she's  always  right,  that  girl,  and  I'm  so  absent," 
says  the  King,  looking  at  his  watch  again.  "  Ha !  Hark,  there 
go  the  drums  !    What  a  doosid  awkward  thing  though  !  " 

"O  Papa,  you  goose!  Write  the  reprieve,  and  let  me  run 
with  it,"  cries  the  Princess  —  and  she  got  a  sheet  of  paper,  and 
pen  and  ink,  and  laid  them  before  the  King. 

"Confound  it!  Where  are  my  spectacles?"  the  Monarch 
exclaimed.  "  Angelica  !  Go  up  into  my  bedroom,  look  under 
my  pillow,  not  your  mamma's ;  there  you'll  see  my  keys, 
luring  them  down  to  me,  and  —  Well,  well!  what  impetuous 
things  these  girls  are  !  "  Angelica  was  gone,  and  had  run  up 
panting  to  tin;  bedroom  and  found  the  keys,  and  was  back 
again  before  the  King  had  finished  a  muflin.  "  Now,  love," 
says  he,  "  you  must  go  all  the  way  back  for  my  desk,  in  which 
my  spectacles  are.    If  you  but  have  heard  me  out  .  .  .  . 

Be  hanged  to  her!  Tliere  she  is  off  again.  Angelica!  Ange- 
lica !  "  When  his  Majesty  called  in  his  loud  voice,  she  knew 
she  must  obey,  and  came  back. 


Angelica  arrives  just  in  Time. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ttiiNOIS 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


201 


"  My  dear,  when  3^011  go  out  of  a  room,  how  often  have  T 
told  you,  shut  the  door'^  That's  a  dailing.  That's  all."  At 
last  the  keys  and  the  desk  and  the  spectacles  were  got,  and  the 
King  mended  his  pen,  and  signed  his  name  to  a  reprieve,  and 
Angelica  ran  with  it  as  swift  as  the  wind.  You'd  better 
stay,  my  love,  and  finish  the  muffins.  There's  no  use  going. 
Be  sure  it's  too  late.  Hand  me  over  that  raspberry  jam, 
please,"  said  the  Monarch.  ''Bong!  Bawong  !  There  goes 
the  half-hour.    I  knew  it  was." 

Angelica  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran.  She  ran  up  Fore 
Street,  and  down  High  Street,  and  through  the  Market-place, 
and  down  to  the  left,  and  over  the  bridge,  and  up  the  blino 
alley,  and  back  again,  and  round  bv  the  Castle,  and  so  along 
by  the  haberdasher's  on  the  right,  opposite  the  lamp-post,  and 
round  the  square,  and  she  came  — she  came  to  the  Execution 
place^  where  she  saw  Bulbo  laying  his  head  on  the  block  !  !  ! 
The  executioner  raised  his  axe,  but  at  that  moment  the  Princess 
came  panting  up  and  cried  Reprieve.  "  Reprieve  !  "  screamed 
the  Princess.  "Reprieve!"  shouted  all  the  people.  Up  the 
scaffold  stairs  she  sprang,  with  the  agilit}"  of  a  lighter  of  lamps  ; 
and  flinging  herself  in  Bulbo's  arms,  regardless  of  all  ceremonj', 
she  cried  out,  ' '  O  my  Prince  !  my  lord  !  my  love  !  my  Bulbo  ! 
Thine  Angelica  has  been  in  time  to  save  thy  precious  exist- 
ence, sweet  rosebud ;  to  prevent  thy  being  nipped  in  thy 
young  bloom  !  Had  aught  befallen  thee,  Angelica  too  had  died, 
and  welcomed  death  that  joined  her  to  her  Bulbo." 

"  H'm  !  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  said  Bulbo,  look- 
ing so  very  much  puzzled  and  uncomfortable,  that  the  Princess, 
in  tones  of  tenderest  strain,  asked  the  cause  of  his  disquiet. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  AngeUca,"  said  he  :  "  since  I  came 
here,  3'esterday,  there  has  been  such  a  row,  and  disturbance, 
and  quarrelling,  and  fighting,  and  chopping  of  heads  off,  and 
the  deuce  to  pay,  that  I  am  inclined  to  go  back  to  Crim  Tar- 
tary." 

"  But  with  me  as  thy  bride,  m}^  Bulbo  !  Though  wherever 
thou  art  is  Crim  Tartary  to  me,  my  bold,  my  beautiful,  mv 
Bulbo!" 

"  Well,  well,  I  suppose  we  must  be  married,"  says  Bulbo. 
"Doctor,  you  came  to  read  the  Funeral  Service  —  read  the 
Marriage  Service,  will  3'ou?  What  must  be,  must.  That  will 
satisf}'  Angelica,  and  then,  in  the  name  of  peace  and  quietness, 
do  let  us  go  back  to  breakfast." 

Bulbo  had  carried  a  rose  in  his  mouth  all  the  time  of  the 
dismal  ceremony.    It  was  a  fair}'  rose,  and  he  was  told  by  his 


202 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


mother  that  he  ought  never  to  part  with  it.  So  he  had  kept  it 
between  his  teeth,  even  when  he  laid  his  poor  head  upon  the 
block,  hoping  vaguely  that  some  chance  would  turn  up  in  his 
favor.  As  he  began  to  speak  to  Angelica,  he  forgot  about  the 
rose,  and  of  course  it  dropped  out  of  his  mouth.  The  roman- 
tic Princess  instantly  stooped  and  seized  it.  ''Sweet  rose!** 
she  exclaimed,  ''that  bloomed  upon  my  Bulbo's  lip,  never, 
never  will  I  part  from  thee  !  "  and  she  placed  it  in  her  bosom. 
And  you  know  Bulbo  couldn't  ask  her  to  give  the  rose  back 
again.  And  they  went  to  breakfast ;  and  as  they  walked,  it  ap- 
peared to  Bulbo  that  Angelica  became  more  exquisitely  lovely 
ever}^  moment. 

He  was  frantic  until  they  were  married  ;  and  now,  strange 
to  sa}^,  it  was  Angelica  who  didn't  care  about  him  !  He  knelt 
down,  he  kissed  her  hand,  he  prayed  and  begged  ;  he  cried 
with  admiration  ;  while  she  for  her  part  said  she  really  thought 
they  might  wait ;  it  seemed  to  her  he  was  not  handsome  any 
more —  no,  not  at  all,  quite  the  reverse  ;  and  not  clever,  no, 
very  stupid  ;  and  not  well  bred,  like  Giglio ;  no,  on  the  con- 
trary dreadfully  vul — 

What,  I  cannot  say,  for  King  Yaloroso  roared  out  "  Pooh^ 
stuff!"  in  a  terrible  voice.  "We  will  have  no  more  of  this 
shilh'-shallying !  Call  the  Archbishop,  and  let  the  Prince  and 
Princess  be  married  off-hand  !  " 

So,  married  they  were,  and  I  am  sure  for  my  part  I  trust 
they  will  be  happy. 


XII. 

HOW  BETSINDA  FLED,   AND  WHAT  BECAME  OF  HER. 

Betsinda  wandered  on  and  on,  till  slie  passed  through  the 
town  gates,  and  so  on  the  great  Crini  Tnrtary  road,  the  very 
way  on  which  (iigho  too  was  going.  "  Ah  !  "  thought  she,  as 
the  diligence  i)asscd  lier,  of  which  the  conductor  was  blowing  a 
delightful  tune  on  his  horn,  "  how  I  should  like  to  be  on  that 
coach  !  "  P>ut  the  coach  and  the  jingling  horses  were  very  soon 
gone.  She  little  knew  who  was  in  it,  though  very  likely  she 
was  thinking  of  him  all  the  time. 

Then  (^aine  an  empty  cart,  returning  from  market ;  and  the 
driver  being  a  kind  man,  and  seeing  such  a  very  pretty  girl 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


203 


trudging  along  the  road  with  bare  feet,  most  good-naturedly 
gave  her  a  seat.  He  said  he  lived  on  the  confines  of  the 
forest,  where  his  old  father  was  a  woodman,  and,  if  she  liked, 
he  would  take  her  so  far  on  her  road.  All  roads  were  the 
same  to  little  Betsinda,  so  she  ver}-  thankfully  took  this  one. 

And  the  carter  put  a  cloth  round  her  bare  feet,  and  gave 
her  some  bread  and  cold  bacon,  and  was  very  kind  to  her. 
For  all  that  she  was  very  cold  and  melancholy.  When  after 
travelling  on  and  on,  evening  came,  and  all  the  black  pines 
were  bending  with  snow,  and  there,  at  last,  was  the  comfort- 
able light  beaming  in  the  woodman's  windows  ;  and  so  they 
arrived,  and  went  into  his  cottage.  He  was  an  old  man,  and 
had  a  number  of  children,  who  were  just  at  supper,  with  nice 
hot  bread-and-milk,  when  their  elder  brother  arrived  with  the 
cart.  And  they  jumped  and  clapped  their  hands  ;  for  they 
were  good  children  ;  and  he  had  brought  them  toys  from  the 
town.  And  when  they  saw  the  pretty  stranger,  they  ran  to  her, 
and  brought  her  to  the  fire,  and  rubbed  her  poor  little  feet,  and 
brought  her  bread-and-milk. 

'^Look,  Father,"  they  said  to  the  old  woodman,  "look  at 
this  poor  girl,  and  see  what  prett}^  cold  feet  she  has.  They 


204 


THE  KOSE  AND  THE  RING. 


are  as  white  as  our  milk !  And  look  and  see  what  an  odd 
cloak  she  has,  just  like  the  bit  of  velvet  that  hangs  up  in  our 
cupboard,  and  which  3'ou  found  that  day  the  little  cubs  were 
killed  by  King  Padella,  in  the  forest !  And  look,  why,  bless  us 
all !  she  has  got  round  her  neck  just  such  another  little  shoe  as 
that  you  brought  home,  and  have  shown  us  so  often  —  a  little 
blue  velvet  shoe  !  " 

What,"  said  the  old  woodman,  —  "What  is  all  this  about 
a  shoe  and  a  cloak  ?  " 

And  Betsinda  explained  that  she  had  been  left,  when  quite 
a  little  child,  at  the  town  with  this  cloak  and  this  shoe.  And 
the  persons  who  had  taken  care  of  her  had  —  had  been  angry 
with  her,  for  no  fault,  she  hoped,  of  her  own.  And  they  had 
sent  her  awa}'  with  her  old  clothes  —  and  here,  in  fact,  she  was. 
She  remembered  having  been  in  a  forest  —  and  perhaps  it  was  a 
dream  —  it  was  so  very  odd  and  strange  —  having  lived  in  a 
cave  with  lions  there  ;  and,  before  that,  having  lived  in  a  very, 
very  fine  house,  as  fine  as  the  King's,  in  the  town. 

When  the  woodman  heard  this  he  was  so  astonished,  it 
was  quite  curious  to  see  how  astonished  he  was.  He  went  to 
his  cupboard,  and  took  out  of  a  stocking  a  five-shilling  piece 
of  King  Cavolfiore,  and  vowed  it  was  exactl}^  like  the  young 
woman.  And  then  he  produced  the  shoe 
and  the  piece  of  velvet  which  he  had 
kept  so  long,  and  compared  them  with 
the  things  which  Betsinda  wore.  In 
Betsinda's little  shoe  was  written,  "Hop- 
kins, maker  to  the  Royal  Family  ; "  so 
in  the  other  shoe  was  written,  "Hop- 
kins, maker  to  the  Royal  Family."  In 
the  inside  of  Betsinda's  piece  of  cloak 
was  embroidered,  "  prin  rosal  ;  in  the 
other  piece  of  cloak  was  embroidered, 
"  CESS  BA.    No.  246."    80  tliat  when  put  together  you  read, 

"  PRINCESS  ROSALBA.      No.  24G." 

On  seeing  this,  the  dear  old  woodman  fell  down  on  his 
knee,  saying:  "0  my  princess,  O  my  gracious  royal  lady,  O 
my  rightful  (^ueen  of  Crirn  Tartary,  —  I  hail  thee — I  acknowl- 
edge thee  —  I  do  thee  homnge  !  "  And  in  token  of  his  fealty, 
he  rubbed  his  venerable  nose  three  times  on  the  ground,  and 
put  the  I^rincess's  foot  on  his  head. 

"Why,"  said  she,  "my  good  woodman,  you  must  be  a 
nobleman  of  my  royal  father's  Court ! "  for  in  her  lowly 
retreat,  and  under  the  name  of  Betsinda,    Her  Majesty, 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


205 


RosALBA,  Queen  of  Crim  Tartary,  had  read  of  the  customs 
of  all  foreign  courts  and  nations. 

Marry,  indeed  am  I,  my  gracious  liege  —  the  poor  Lord 
Spinachi  once,  the  humble  woodman  these  fifteen  years 
syne  —  ever  since  the  tjTant  Padella  (may  ruin  overtake  the 
treacherous  knave !)  dismissed  me  from  my  post  of  First 
Lord.'' 

''First  Lord  of  the  Toothpick  and  Joint  Keeper  of  the 
Snuff-box?  I  mind  me!  Thou  heldest  these  posts  under 
our  royal  Sire.  They  are  restored  to  thee,  Lord  Spinachi ! 
I  make  thee  knight  of  the  second  class  of  our  Order  of  the 
Pumpkin  (the  first  class  being  reserved  for  crowned  heads 
alone.  Rise,  Marquis  of  Spinachi !  "  And  with  indescribable 
majesty,  the  Queen,  who  had  no  sword  handy,  waved  the 
pewter  spoon,  with  which  she  had  been  taking  her  bread-and- 
milk,  over  the  bald  head  of  the  old  nobleman,  whose  tears 
absolutely  made  a  puddle  on  the  ground,  and  whose  dear 
children  went  to  bed  that  night  Lords  and  Ladies  Bartolomeo, 
Ubaldo,  Catarina,  and  Ottavia  degli  Spinachi ! 

The  acquaintance  Her  Majesty  showed  with  the  history 
and  noble  families  of  her  empire,  was  wonderful.  ''  The 
House  of  Broccoli  should  remain  faithful  to  us,"  she  said  ; 
"they  were  ever  welcome  at  our  Court.  Have  the  Arti- 
ciocchi,  as  was  their  wont,  turned  to  the  Rising  Sun?  The 
famil3^  of  Sauerkraut  must  sure  be  with  us  —  they  were  ever 
welcome  in  the  halls  of  King  Cavolfiore."  And  so  she  went 
on  enumerating  quite  a  list  of  the  nobility  and  gentr}'  of  Crim 
Tartary,  so  admirabl}^  had  her  Majesty  profited  by  her  studies 
while  in  exile. 

The  old  Marquis  of  Spinachi  said  he  could  answer  for  them 
all ;  that  the  whole  country  groaned  under  Padella's  tyranny, 
and  longed  to  return  to  its  rightful  sovereign  ;  and  late  as  it 
was,  he  sent  his  children,  who  knew  the  forest  well,  to  summon 
this  nobleman  and  that;  and  wdien  his  eldest  son,  who  had 
been  rubbing  the  horse  down  and  giving  him  his  supper,  came 
into  the  house  for  his  own,  the  Marquis  told  him  to  put  his 
boots  on,  and  a  saddle  on  the  mare,  and  ride  hither  and  thither 
to  such  and  such  people. 

When  the  young  man  heard  who  his  companion  in  the  cart 
had  been,  he  too  knelt  down  and  put  her  royal  foot  on  his  head  ; 
he  too  bedewed  the  ground  with  his  tears  :  he  was  franticalh' 
in  love  with  her,  as  everj^bod}'  now  was  who  saw  her :  so  were 
the  3'Oung  Lords  Bartolomeo  and  Ubaldo,  who  punched  each 
other's  little  heads  out  of  jealousy :  and  so,  when  they  came 


206 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


from  east  and  west  at  the  summons  of  the  Marquis  degli 
Spinachi,  were  the  Crim  Tartar  Lords  who  still  remained 
faithful  to  the  House  of  Cavolfiore.  They  were  such  very  old 
gentlemen  for  the  most  part,  that  her  Majesty  never  suspected 
their  absurd  passion,  and  went  among  them  quite  unaware  of 
the  havoc  her  beauty  was  causing,  until  an  old  blind  Lord  who 
had  joined  her  part^^  told  her  what  the  truth  was  ;  after  which, 
for  fear  of  making  the  people  too  much  in  love  with  her,  she 
always  wore  a  veil.  She  went  about  privately,  from  one  noble- 
man's castle  to  another :  and  they  visited  amongst  themselves 
again,  and  had  meetings,  and  composed  proclamations  and 
counter-proclamations,  and  distributed  all  the  best  places  of 
the  kingdom  amongst  one  another,  and  selected  who  of  the 
opposition  party  should  be  executed  when  the  Queen  came  to 
her  own.  And  so  in  about  a  ^'ear  they  were  ready  to  move. 
The  party  of  Fidelity  was  in  truth  composed  of  very  feeble 


old  follies  for  the  most  part :  they  went  about  the  country 
waving  tlieir  old  swords  and  flags,  and  calling  God  save  the 
Queen  !  "  and  King  Padella  ha[)pening  to  be  absent  upon  an 
invasion,  they  had  Iheir  own  way  for  a  little,  and  to  be  sure  the 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


207 


people  were  very  enthusiastic  whenever  they  saw  the  Queen , 
otherwise  the  vulgar  took  matters  very  quietly  —  for  they  said, 
as  far  as  the}^  could  recollect,  they  were  pretty  well  as  much 
taxed  in  Cavolfiore's  time  as  now  in  Padella's. 


XIII. 

HOW  QUEEN  ROSALBA  CAME  TO  THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  BOLD 
COUNT  HOGGINARMO. 

Her  Majesty,  having  indeed  nothing  else  to  give,  made  all 
her  followers  Knights  of  the  Pumpkin,  and  Marquises,  Earls, 
and  Baronets ;  and  they  had  a  little  court  for  her,  and  made 
her  a  little  crown  of  gilt  paper,  and  a  robe  of  cotton  velvet ; 
and  they  quarrelled  about  the  places  to  be  given  away  in  her 
court,  and  about  rank  and  precedence  and  dignities ;  —  you 
can't  think  how  they  quarrelled !  The  poor  Queen  was  vct}^ 
tired  of  her  honors  before  she  had  had  them  a  month,  and  I 
dare  say  sighed  sometimes  even  to  be  a  lady's-maid  again. 
But  we  must  all  do  our  dutj^  in  our  respective  stations,  so  the 
Queen  resigned  herself  to  perform  hers. 

We  have  said  how  it  happened  that  none  of  the  Usurper's 
troops  came  out  to  oppose  this  Army  of  Fidelity :  it  pottered 
along  as  nimbly  as  the  gout  of  the  principal  commanders 
allowed :  it  consisted  of  twice  as  many  officers  as  soldiers : 
and  at  length  passed  near  the  estates  of  one  of  the  most 
powerful  noblemen  of  the  country,  who  had  not  declared  for 
the  Queen,  but  of  whom  her  party  had  hopes,  as  he  was  alway  s 
quarrelling  with  King  Padella. 

When  the}^  came  close  to  his  park  gates,  this  nobleman 
sent  to  say  he  would  wait  upon  her  Majesty :  he  was  a  most 
powerful  warrior,  and  his  name  was  Count  Hogginarmo,  whose 
helmet  it  took  two  strong  negroes  to  carry.  He  knelt  down 
before  her  and  said,  ''Madam  and  liege  lad}'!  it  becomes  the 
great  nobles  of  the  Crimean  realm  to  show  every  outward  sign 
of  respect  to  the  wearer  of  the  Crown,  whoever  that  may  be. 
We  testif}'  to  our  own  nobilit}'  in  acknowledging  yours.  The 
bold  Hogginarmo  bends  the  knee  to  the  first  of  the  aristocracy 
of  his  country." 

Eosalba  said  the  bold  Count  of  Hogginarmo  was  uncora- 


208 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


monly  kind ;  but  she  felt  afraid  of  him,  even  while  he  was 
kneeling,  and  his  eyes  scowled  at  her  from  between  his  whis- 
kers, which  grew  up  to  them. 


''The  first  Count  of  the  Empire,  madam,"  he  went  on, 
"salutes  the  Sovereign.  The  Prince  addresses  himself  to  the 
not  more  noble  lad}^ !  Madam,  my  hand  is  free,  and  I  offer  it, 
and  my  heart  and  my  sword,  to  your  service  !  My  three  wives 
lie  buried  in  my  ancestral  vaults.  Tlie  third  perished  but  a 
year  since;  and  tliis  heart  pines  for  a  consort!  Deign  to  be 
mine,  and  I  swear  to  bring  to  your  bridal  table  the  head  of 
King  Padclla,  the  eyes  and  nose  of  his  son  Prince  Bulbo,  the 
right  hand  and  ears  of  the  usurping  Sovereign  of  Paflagonia, 
which  country  shall  henceforth  be  an  appanage  to  your  — to 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


209 


our  Crown  !  Sa}^  yes ;  Hogginarmo  is  not  accustomed  to  be 
denied.  Indeed  I  cannot  contemplate  the  possibility  of  a  refu- 
sal;  for  frightful  will  be  the  result;  dreadful  the  murders; 
furious  the  devastations ;  horrible  the  tyranny ;  tremendous 
the  tortures,  miser}^  taxation,  which  the  people  of  this  realm 
will  endure,  if  Hogginarmo's  wrath  be  aroused  !  I  see  consent 
in  3'our  Majesty's  lovely  eyes  — their  glances  fill  my  soul  with 
rapture  ! " 

''Oh,  sir!"  Rosalba  said,  withdrawing  her  hand  in  great 
fright.  "Your  lordship  is  exceedingly  kind  ;  but  I  am  sorr}'  to 
tell  you  that  I  have  a  prior  attachment  to  a  young  gentleman 
b}'  the  name  of — Prince  —  Gigiio  —  and  never  —  never  can 
marry  any  one  but  him." 

Who  can  describe  Hogginarmo's  wrath  at  this  remark? 
Rising  up  from  the  ground,  he  ground  his  teeth  so  that  fire 
flashed  out  of  his  mouth,  from  which  at  the  same  time  issued 
remarks  and  language,  so  loud^  violent^  and  improper^  that  this 
pen  shall  never  repeat  them  !    ' '  R-r-r-r-r-r — Rejected  !  Fiends 


210 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


and  perdition  !  The  bold  Hogginarmo  rejected !  All  the  world 
shall  hear  of  m}"  rage ;  and  3^ou,  madam,  3'ou  above  all  shall 
rue  it !  "  And  kicking  the  two  negroes  before  him,  he  rushed 
away,  his  whiskers  streaming  in  the  wind. 

Her  Majesty's  Privy  Council  was  in  a  dreadful  panic  when 
the}"  saw  Hogginarmo  issue  from  the  royal  presence  in  such  a 
towering  rage,  making  footballs  of  the  poor  negroes  —  a  panic 
which  the  events  justified.  They  marched  off  from  Hoggin- 
armo's  park  very  crest-fallen  ;  and  in  another  half-hour  they 
were  met  b}'  that  rapacious  chieftain  with  a  few  of  his  followers, 
who  cut,  slashed,  charged,  whacked,  banged,  and  pommelled 
amongst  them,  took  the  Queen  prisoner,  and  drove  the  Army 
of  Fidelit}'  to  I  don't  know  where. 

Poor  Queen  !  Hogginarmo,  her  conqueror,  would  not  con- 
descend to  see  her.  Get  a  horse-van  ! "  he  said  to  his  grooms, 
''clap  the  hussy  into  it,  and  send  her,  with  my  compliments, 
to  his  Majesty  King  Padella." 

Along  with  his  lovelj^  prisoner,  Hogginarmo  sent  a  letter 
full  of  servile  compliments  and  loathsome  flatteries  to  King 
Padella,  for  whose  life,  and  that  of  his  ro3'al  famil}^,  the  hypo- 
critical humbug  pretended  to  offer  the  most  fulsome  praters. 
And  Hogginarmo  promised  speedily  to  pa}^  bis  humble  homage 
at  bis  august  master's  throne,  of  which  he  begged  leave  to  be 
counted  the  most  loyal  and  constant  defender.  Such  a  wary 
old  bird  as  King  Padella  was  not  to  be  caught  by  Master 
Hogginarmo's  chaffs  and  we  shall  hear  presently  how  the  tyrant 
treated  his  upstart  vassal.  No,  no  ;  depend  on't,  two  such 
rogues  do  not  trust  one  another. 

So  this  [)Oor  Queen  was  laid  in  the  straw  like  Marger}'  Daw, 
and  driven  along  in  the  dark  ever  so  many  miles  to  the  Court, 
where  King  Padella  bad  now  arrived,  having  vanquished  all  his 
enemies,  murdered  most  of  them,  and  brought  some  >of  the 
richest  into  captivity  with  him  for  the  purpose  of  torturing 
them  and  finding  out  where  they  had  bidden  their  money, 

Kosalba  beard  their  shrieks  and  groans  in  the  dungeon  in 
which  she  was  thrust :  a  most  awful  black  hole,  full  of  bats, 
rats,  mice,  toads,  frogs,  mosquitoes,  bugs,  fleas,  serpents,  and 
every  kind  of  borror.  No  light  was  let  into  it,  otherwise  the 
gaolers  might  have  seen  her  and  fallen  in  love  with  her,  as  an 
owl  tliat  lived  up  in  the  roof  of  the  tower  did,  and  a  cat,  you 
know,  wbo  can  see  in  the  dark,  and  having  set  its  green  eyes 
on  Rosalba,  n(iver  would  be  got  to  go  back  to  the  turnkey's 
wife  to  wbom  it  belonged.  And  tbe  toads  in  the  dungeon 
came  and  kissed  her  feet,  and  the  vipers  wound  round  her  neck 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING.  211 

atid  arms,  and  never  hurt  her,  so  charming  was  this  poor 
Princess  in  the  midst  of  her  misfortunes. 

At  last,  after  she  had  been  kept  in  this  place  ever  so  long^ 
the  door  of  the  dungeon  opened,  and  the  terrible  King  Pa- 
DELLA  came  in. 


But  what  he  said  and  did  must  be  reserved  for  another 
chapter,  as  we  must  now  back  to  Prince  Giglio. 


212 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


XIV. 

WHAT  BECAME  OF  GIGLIO. 

The  idea  of  marrying  such  an  old  creature  as  GruffanufF, 
frightened  Prince  Giglio  so,  that  he  ran  up  to  his  room,  packed 
his  trunks,  fetched  in  a  couple  of  porters,  and  was  off  to  the 
diligence  office  in  a  twinkling. 

It  was  well  that  he  was  so  quick  in  his  operations,  did  not 
dawdle  over  his  luggage,  and  took  the  early  coach :  for  as  soon 
as  the  mistake  about  Prince  Bulbo  was  found  out,  that  cruel 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


213 


Glumboso  sent  up  a  couple  of  policemen  to  Prince  Giglio's 
room,  with  orders  that  he  should  be  carried  to  Newgate,  and 
his  head  taken  off  before  twelve  o'clock.  But  the  coach  was 
out  of  the  Paflagonian  dominions  before  two  o'clock ;  and  I 
dare  say  the  express  that  was  sent  after  Prince  Giglio  did  not 
ride  very  quick,  for  man}^  people  in  Paflagonia  had  a  regard  for 
GigHo,  as  the  son  of  their  old  sovereign  :  a  prince  who,  with 
all  his  weaknesses,  was  very  much  better  than  his  brother,  the 
usurping,  lazy,  careless,  passionate,  tyrannical  reigning  mon- 
arch. That  Prince  busied  himself  with  the  balls,  fetes,  mas- 
querades, hunting-parties  and  so  forth,  which  he  thought  proper 
to  give  on  occasion  of  his  daughter's  marriage  to  Prince  Bull)o  ; 
and  let  us  trust  was  not  sorry  in  his  own  heart  that  his  brother's 
son  had  escaped  the  scaffold. 

It  was  very  cold  weather,  and  the  snow  was  on  the  ground, 
and  Giglio,  who  gave  his  name  as  simple  Mr.  Giles,  was  ver}' 
glad  to  get  a  comfortable  place  in  the  coupe  of  the  diligence, 
where  he  sat  with  the  conductor  and  another  gentleman.  At 
the  first  stage  from  Blombodinga,  as  they  stopped  to  change 
horses,  there  came  up  to  the  diligence  a  very  ordinar}' ,  vulgar- 
looking  woman,  with  a  bag  under  her  arm,  who  asked  for  a 
place.  All  the  inside  places  were  taken,  and  the  3'oung  woman 
was  informed  that  if  she  wished  to  travel,  she  must  go  upon 
the  roof ;  and  the  passenger  inside  with  Giglio  (a  rude  person, 
I  should  think,)  put  his  head  out  of 
the  window  and  said,  "  Nice  weather 
for  travelling  outside !  I  wish  3'ou  a 
pleasant  journe3',  m}^  dear."  The  poor 
woman  coughed  ver}'  much,  and  Giglio 
pitied  her.  ''I  will  give  up  m}'  place 
to  her,"  says  he,  rather  than  she 
should  travel  in  the  cold  air  with  that 
horrid  cough."  On  which  the  vulgar 
traveller  said,  You'd  keep  her  warm, 
1  am  sure,  if  it's  a  mujf  she  wants." 
On  which  Giglio  pulled  his  nose,  boxed 
his  ears,  hit  him  in  the  eye,  and  gave 
this  vulgar  person  a  warning  never  to 
call  him  again. 

Then  he  sprang  up  gayly  on  to 
the  roof  of  the  diligence,  and  made 
himself  very  comfortable  in  the  straw.  The  vulgar  traveller 
got  down  only  at  the  next  station,  and  Giglio  took  his  place 
again,  and  talked  to  the  person  next  to  him.    She  appeared  to 


214 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


be  a  most  agreeable,  well-informed,  and  entertaining  female. 
The}'  travelled  together  till  night,  and  she  gave  Giglio  all  sorts 
of  things  out  of  the  bag  which  she  carried,  and  which  indeed 
seemed  to  contain  the  most  wonderful  collection  of  articles. 
He  was  thirsty  —  out  there  came  a  pint-bottle  of  Bass's  pale 
ale,  and  a  silver  mug!  Hungry  —  she  took  out  a  cold  fowl, 
some  slices  of  ham,  bread,  salt,  and  a  most  delicious  piece  of 
cold  plum-pudding,  and  a  little  glass  of  brandy  afterwards. 

As  they  travelled,  this  plain-looking,  queer  woman  talked  to 
Giglio  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  in  which  the  poor  Prince  showed 
his  ignorance  as  much  as  she  did  her  capacit}'.  He  owned, 
with  many  blushes,  how  ignorant  he  was  :  on  which  the  lady^^ 
said,  "  My  dear  Gigl — my  good  Mr.  Giles,  you  are  a  young 
man,  and  have  plent}^  of  time  before  you.  You  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  improve  yourself.  Who  knows  but  that  3'Ou  may 
find  use  for  your  knowledge  some  day?  —  when  —  when  3^ou 
may  be  wanted  at  home,  as  some  people  may  be." 

"  Good  heavens,  madam  !  "  says  he,  "  do  you  know  me?  " 

''I  know  a  number  of  funn}^  things,"  sa3^s  the  lady.  "  I 
have  been  at  some  people's  christenings,  and  turned  away  from 
other  folks'  doors.  I  have  seen  some  people  spoilt  by  good 
fortune,  and  others,  as  I  hope,  improved  b}^  hardship.  I  ad- 
vise you  to  stay  at  the  town  where  the  coach  stops  for  the 
night.  Stay  there  and  stud}^,  and  remember  your  old  friend  to 
whom  you  were  kind." 

'.'  And  who  is  my  old  friend?  "  asked  Giglio. 

"  When  you  want  anj^thing,"  says  the  lady,  "look  in  this 
bag,  which  I  leave  to  3'ou  as  a  present,  and  be  grateful  to  —  " 

"  To  whom,  madam?  "  sa3^s  he. 

"  To  the  Fairy  Blackstick,"  sa3^s  the  lady,  flying  out  of  the 
window.  And  when  Giglio  asked  the  conductor  if  he  knew 
where  the  lady  was  ?  — 

"  What  lady?"  sa3's  the  man.  "There  has  been  no  lad3' 
in  this  coach,  except  the  old  woman  who  got  out  at  the  last 
stage."  And  Giglio  thought  he  had  been  dreaming.  But 
there  was  the  bag  which  Blackstick  had  given  him  lying  on  his 
lap  ;  and  when  he  came  to  the  town  he  took  it  in  his  hand  and 
went  into  the  inn. 

Tluiy  gave  him  a  ver3^  bad  bedroom,  and  Giglio,  when  he 
woke  in  the  morning,  fanc3ing  himself  in  the  Ro3'al  Palace  at 
home,  called,  "John,  Charles,  Thomas!  M3' chocolate — my 
dressing-gown  —  my  slippers;"  but  nobody  came.  There  was 
no  bell,  so  he  went  and  bawled  out  for  waiter  on  the  top  of  the 
stairi^. 


THE  EOSE  AND  THE  RING.  215 


The  landlady  came  up,  looking  —  looking  like  this  — 


216 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


He  !  he  !  Clean  'em  yourself,"  says  the  landlady.  "  You 
young  students  give  yourselves  pretty  airs.  I  never  heard  such 
impudence.'* 

I'll  quit  the  house  this  instant,"  says  Giglio. 

The  sooner  the  better,  young  man.  Pay  3'our  bill  and  be 
off.  All  my  rooms  is  wanted  for  gentlefolks,  and  not  for  such 
as  you." 

You  may  well  keep  the  '  Bear  Inn,'  "  says  Giglio.  "  You 
should  have  yourself  painted  as  the  sign." 

The  landlad}^  of  the  "  Bear  "  went  away  growling.  And 
Giglio  returned  to  his  room,  where  the  first  thing  he  saw  was 
the  fairy  bag  lying  on  the  table,  which  seemed  to  give  a  httle 
hop  as  he  came  in.  "  I  hope  it  has  some  breakfast  in  it," 
says  Giglio,  "for  I  have  only  a  very  little  money  left."  But 
on  opening  the  bag,  what  do  you  think  was  there?  A  black- 
ing brush  and  a  pot  of  Warren's  jet,  and  on  the  pot  was 
written. 

Poor  young  men  their  boots  must  black  : 
Use  me  and  cork  me  and  put  me  back." 

So  Giglio  laughed  and  blacked  his  boots,  and  put  back  the 
brush  and  the  bottle  into  the  bag. 

When  he  had  done  dressing  himself,  the  bag  gave  another 
little  hop,  and  he  went  to  it  and  took  out  — 

1.  A  tablecloth  and  a  napkin. 

2.  A  sugar-basin  full  of  the  best  loaf-sugar. 

4,  6,  8,  10.  Two  forks,  two  teaspoons,  two  knives,  and  a 
pair  of  sugar-tongs,  and  a  butter-knife,  all  marked  G. 
11,  12,  13.  A  teacup,  saucer,  and  slop-basin. 

14.  A  jug  full  of  delicious  cream. 

15.  A  canister  with  black  tea  and  green. 

16.  A  large  tea-urn  and  boiUng  water. 

17.  A  saucepan,  containing  three  eggs  nicely  done. 

18.  A  quarter  of  a  pound  of  best  Epping  butter. 

19.  A  brown  loaf. 

And  if  he  hadn't  enough  now  for  a  good  breakfast,  I  should 
like  to  know  who  ever  had  one? 

Giglio,  having  had  his  breakfast,  popped  all  the  things  back 
into  the  bag,  and  went  out  looking  for  lodgings.  I  forgot  to 
say  that  tliis  celebrated  university  town  was  called  Bosforo. 

He  took  a  mod(;st  lodging  opposite  the  Schools,  paid  his  bill 
at  the  inn,  and  went  to  his  apartment  with  his  trunk,  carpet- 
bag, and  not  forgetting,  we  may  be  sure,  his  other  bag. 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


217 


When  he  opened  his  trunk,  which  the  day  before  he  had 
filled  with  his  best  clothes,  he  found  it  contained  only  books. 
And  in  the  first  of  them  which  he  opened  there  was  written  — 


And  in  his  bag,  when  Giglio  looked  in  it,  he  found  a  student's 
cap  and  gown,  a  writing-book  full  of  paper,  an  inkstand,  pens, 
and  a  Johnson's  dictionar}',  which  was  very  useful  to  him,  as 
his  spelling  had  been  sadl}'  neglected. 

So  he  sat  down  and  worked  away,  yery,  very  hard,  for  a 
whole  3^ear,  during  which  ''Mr.  Giles"  was  quite  an  example 
to  all  the  students  in  the  Universit}^  of  Bosforo.  He  never  got 
into  an}'  riots  or  disturbances.  The  professors  all  spoke  well 
of  him,  and  the  students  liked  him  too ;  so  that  when  at  ex- 
amination he  took  all  the  prizes,  viz.  :  — 

/  The  SpeUing  Prize         ^  The  French  Prize 


all  his  fellow-students  said,  "  Hurray  !  Hurra}^  for  Giles  !  Giles 
is  the  boy  —  the  student's  joy  !  Hurray  for  Giles  !  "  And  he 
brought  quite  a  quantit}^  of  medals,  crowns,  books,  and  tokens 
of  distinction  home  to  his  lodo:ino:s. 

One  day  after  the  Examinations,  as  he  was  diverting  himself 
at  a  coffee-house  with  two  friends  —  (Did  I  tell  you  that  in  his 
bag,  every  Saturday  night,  he  found  just  enough  to  pay  his 
bills,  with  a  guinea  over  for  pocket-mone}^ !  Didn't  I  tell  you? 
Well,  he  did,  as  sure  as  twice  twenty  makes  forty-five)  —  he 
chanced  to  look  in  the  Bosforo  Chronicle^  and  read  off  quite 
easily  (for  he  could  spell,  read,  and  write  the  longest  words 
now)  the  following  — 

''Romantic  Circumstance. — One  of  the  most  extraordi- 
nary adventures  that  we  have  ever  heard  has  set  the  neighbor- 
ing country  of  Grim  Tartary  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

"  It  will  be  remembered  that  when  the  present  revered 
sovereign  of  Crim  Tartary,  his  Majesty  King  Padel'a.  took 
possession  of  the  throne,  after  having  vanquished,  in  the  terrific 
battle  of  Blunderbusco,  the  late  King  CavoJfiore,  that  Prince's 
only  child,  the  Princess  Rosalba,  was  not  found  in  the  royal 
palace,  of  which  King  Padella  took  possession,  and,  it  was 
said,  had  strayed  into  the  forest  (being  abandoned  by  all  her 


Clothes  for  the  back,  books  for  the  head  : 
Read,  and  remember  them  when  they  are  read." 


218 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


attendants),  where  she  had  been  eaten  up  by  those  ferocious 
lions,  the  last  pair  of  which  were  captured  some  time  since, 
and  brought  to  the  Tower,  after  killing  several  hundred  per- 
sons. 

"  His  Majesty  King  Padella,  who  has  the  kindest  heart  in 
the  world,  was  grieved  at  the  accident  which  had  occurred  to 
the  harmless  little  Princess,  for  whom  his  Majest3''s  known 
benevolence  would  certainl}^  have  provided  a  fitting  establish- 
ment. But  her  death  seemed  to  be  certain.  The  mangled 
remains  of  a  cloak,  and  a  little  shoe,  were  found  in  the 
forest,  during  a  hunting-part3%  in  which  the  intrepid  sovereign 
of  Crim  Tartary  slew  two  of  the  lions'  cubs  with  his  own 
spear.  And  these  interesting  relics  of  an  innocent  little 
creature  were  carried  home  and  kept  b}^  their  finder,  the  Baron 
Spinachi,  formerl}'  an  officer  in  Cavoltiore's  household.  The 
Baron  was  disgraced  in  consequence  of  his  known  legitimist 
opinions,  and  has  lived  for  some  time,  in  the  humble  capacity 
of  a  wood-cutter,  in  a  forest  on  the  outskirts  of  the  kingdom  of 
Crim  Tartary. 

Last  Tuesda}^  week  Baron  Spinachi  and  a  number  of 
gentlemen  attached  to  the  former  dynastj'  appeared  in  arms, 
crying,  '  God  save  Rosalba,  the  First  Queen  of  Crim  Tartar}^ ! ' 
and  surrounding  a  lad}^  whom  report  describes  as  ^  beautiful 
exceedingly,'  Her  history  may  be  authentic,  is  certainly  most 
romantic. 

The  personage  calHng  herself  Rosalba  states  that  she  was 
brought  out  of  the  forest,  fifteen  years  since,  by  a  lady  in  a 
car  drawn  by  dragons  (this  account  is  certainly  improbable)^ 
that  she  was4eft  in  the  Palace  Garden  of  Blombodinga,  where 
her  Royal  Highness  tlie  Princess  Angelica,  now  married  to  his 
Royal  Highness  Bulbo,  Crown  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary,  found 
the  child,  and,  with  that  elegant  benevolence  which  has  alwa3'S 
distinguished  the  heiress  of  the  throne  of  Paflagonia,  gave  the 
little  outcast  a  shelter  and  a  home!  Her  parentage  not  being 
known,  and  her  garb  very  humble,  the  foundling  was  edu- 
cated in  the  J^alace  in  a  menial  capacity,  under  the  name  of 
Betsinda. 

"  She  did  not  give  satisfaction,  and  was  dismissed,  carrying 
with  her,  certainly,  part  of  a  mantki  and  a  shoe  which  she  had 
on  when  first  found.  According  to  her  statement  she  quitted 
Blombodinga  about  a  y(^ar  ago,  since  which  time  she  has  been 
with  the  Spinachi  family.  On  the  very  same  morning  the 
Prince  Giglio,  nephew  to  the  King  of  Paflagonia,  a  young 
Prince  whose  character  for  talent  and  order  were,  to  say  truth, 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


219 


none  of  the  highest^  also  quitted  Blomboclinga,  and  has  not  been 
since  heard  of ! 

''What  an  extraordinary^  storyM  "  said  Smith  and  Jones, 
two  young  students,  GigUo's  especial  friends. 

''  Ha  !  what  is  this?  "  Giglio  went  on,  reading  :  — 

"Second  Edition,  Express.  —  We  hear  that  the  troop 
under  Baron  Spinachi  has  been  surrounded,  and  utterly  routed, 
by  General  Count  Hogginarmo,  and  the  soi-disa?it  Princess  is 
sent  a  prisoner  to  the  capital. 

''University  News.  —  Yesterday,  at  the  Schools,  the  dis- 
tinguished young  student,  Mr.  Giles,  read  a  Latin  oration,  and 
was  complimented  b}^  the  Chancellor  of  Bosforo,  Dr.  Prugnaro, 
with  the  highest  University  honor  —  the  wooden  spoon." 

"Never  mind  that  stuff,''  says  Gtles^  greath'  disturbed. 
"  Come  home  with  me,  ni}^  friends.  Gallant  Smith!  intrepid 
Jones  !  friends  of  my  studies  —  partakers  of  my  academic  toils 
—  I  have  that  to  tell  shall  astonish  3'our  honest  minds." 

"  Go  it,  old  boy !  "  cried  the  impetuous  Smith. 

"  Talk  awa}^,  m}'  buck  !  "  says  Jones,  a  livel}^  fellow. 

With  an  air  of  indescribable  dignity,  Giglio  checked  their 
natural,  but  no  more  seemly,  famiharit3\  "Jones,  Smith,  my 
good  friends,"  said  the  Prince,  "  disguise  is  henceforth  use- 
less ;  I  am  no  more  the  humble  student  Giles,  I  am  the  de- 
scendant of  a  royal  line." 

"  Atavis  edite  regihus,  I  know,  old  co — ,"  cried  Jones. 
He  was  going  to  say  "old  cock,"  but  a  flash  from  the  royal 
eye  again  awed  him. 

"  Friends,"  continued  the  Prince.  "  I  am  that  Giglio :  I  am, 
in  fact,  Paflagonia.  Pise,  Smith,  and  kneel  not  in  the  pubhc 
street.    Jones,  thou  true  heart !  faithless  uncle,  when  I 

was  a  baby,  filched  from  me  that  brave  crown  my  father  left 
me,  bred  me,  all  young  and  careless  of  my  rights,  like  unto 
hapless  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark  ;  and  had  I  an}'  thoughts 
about  my  wrongs,  soothed  me  with  promises  of  near  redress. 
I  should  espouse  his  daughter,  young  Angelica  ;  we  two  indeed 
should  reign  in  Paflagonia.  His  words  were  false  —  false  as 
Angelica's  heart !  —  false  as  Angelica's  hair,  color,  front  teeth  ! 
She  looked  with  her  skew  eyes  upon  young  Bulbo.  Crim  Tar- 
tary's  stupid  heir,  and  she  preferred  him.  'Twas  then  I  turned 
my  eyes  upon  Betsinda  —  Rosalba,  as  she  now  is.  And  I  saw- 
in  her  the  blushing  sum  of  all  perfection  ;  the  pink  of  maiden 
modesty ;  the  nymph  that  my  fond  heart  had  ever  woo'd  in 
dreams,"  &c.  &c. 

(I  don't  give  this  speech,  which  was  very  fine,  but  very 


220 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


long ;  and  though  Smith  and  Jones  knew  nothing  about  the 
circumstances,  my  dear  reader  does  :  so  I  go  on.) 

The  Prince  and  his  young  friends  hastened  home  to  his 
apartment,  highly  excited  b}'  the  inteUigence,  as  no  doubt  by 
the  royal  narrator's  admirable  manner  of  recounting  it;  and 
they  ran  up  to  his  room,  where  he  had  worked  so  hard  at  his 
books. 

On  his  writing-table  was  his  bag,  grown  so  long  that  the 
Prince  could  not  help  remarking  it.  He  went  to  it,  opened  it, 
and  what  do  you  think  he  found  in  it? 

A  splendid  long  gold-handled,  red-velvet-scabbarded  cut- 
and-thrust  sword,  and  on  the  sheath  was  embroidered  "  Ros- 

ALBA  FOR  EVER  !  " 

He  drew  out  the  sword,  which  flashed  and  illuminated  the 
whole  room,  and  called  out  Rosalba  forever!'*  Smith  and 
Jones  following  him,  but  quite  respectfullj^  this  time,  and  tak- 
ing the  time  from  his  Royal  Highness. 

And  now  his  trunk  opened  with  a  sudden  pong,  and  out 
there  came  three  ostrich  feathers  in  a  gold  crown,  surrounding 
a  beautiful  shining  steel  helmet,  a  cuirass,  a  pair  of  spurs, 
finall}'  a  complete  suit  of  armor. 

The  books  on  Giglio's  shelves  were  all  gone.  Where  there 
had  been  some  great  dictionaries,  Giglio's  friends  found  two 

pairs  of  jack-boots  labelled    Lieutenant  Smith,''  "  Jones, 

Esq.,"  which  fitted  them  to  a  nicety.  Besides,  there  were  hel- 
mets, back  and  breast  plates,  swords,  &c.,  just  like  in  Mr. 
G.  P.  R.  James's  novels ;  and  that  evening  three  cavaliers 
might  have  been  seen  issuing  from  the  gates  of  Bosforo,  in 
whom  the  porters,  proctors,  &c.  never  thought  of  recognizing 
the  .young"  Prince  and  his  friends. 

They  got  horses  at  a  livery-stable-keeper's,  and  never  drew 
bridle  until  they  reached  the  last  town  on  the  frontier  before 
you  come  to  Crim  Tartar y.  Here,  as  their  animals  were  tired, 
and  the  cavaliers  hungry,  they  stopped  and  refreshed  at  an 
hostel.  I  could  make  a  chapter  of  this  if  I  were  like  some 
writers,  but  I  like  to  cram  my  measure  tight  down,  you  see, 
and  give  you  a  great  deal  for  3^our  money.  And,  in  a  word,  the}' 
had  some  brea(l-and-chees(^  and  ale  up  stairs  on  the  balcony  of 
the  inn.  As  they  were  drinking,  drums  and  trumpets  sounded 
nearer  and  nearer,  the  market-place  was  filled  with  soldiers, 
and  his  Royal  Highness  looking  forth,  recognized  the  Pafla- 
gonian  banners,  and  the  l^aflagonian  national  air  which  the 
bands  were  playing. 

The  troops  all  made  for  the  tavern  at  once,  and  as  they 


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THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


221 


came  up,  Giglio  exclaimed,  on  beholding  their  leader,  "  Whom 
do  I  see?  Yes!  —  no!  It  is,  it  is  ! — Phoo  ! — No,  it  can't 
be  !  Yes  !  it  is  my  friend,  my  gallant,  faithful  veteran,  Captain 
Hedzoff !  Ho,  Hedzoff !  Knowest  thou  not  thy  Prince,  thy 
Giglio?  Good  Corporal,  methinks  we  once  were  friends.  Ha, 
Sergeant,  an  my  memory  serves  me  right,  we  have  had  many  a 
bout  at  singlestick." 

r  faith,  we  have  a  many,  good  my  lord,"  says  the  Ser- 
geant. 

Tell  me  what  means  this  mighty  armament,"  continued 
his  Royal  Highness  from  the  balcony,  and  whither  march  my 
Paflagonians  ?  " 

Hedzoff's  head  fell.  "My  lord,"  he  said,  "we  march  as 
the  allies  of  great  Padella,  Crim  Tartarj^'s  monarch." 

"  Crim  Tartarj^'s usurper,  gallant  Hedzoff!  Crim  Tartary's 
grim  tyrant,  honest  Hedzoff!  "  said  the  Prince,  on  the  balcon}^, 
quite  sarcasticall}^ 

"  A  soldier.  Prince,  must  needs  obey  his  orders :  mine  are 
to  help  his  Majesty  Padella.  And  also  (though  alack  that 
I  should  say  it ! )  to  seize  wherever  I  should  light  upon 
him  —  " 

"  First  catch  your  hare  !  ha,  Hedzoff!  "  exclaimed  his  Royal 
Highness. 

"  — On  the  body  of  Giglio^  whilom  Prince  of  Paflagonia," 
Hedzoff  went  on,  with  indescribable  emotion.  "My  Prince, 
give  up  your  sword  without  ado.  Look  !  we  are  thirty  thou- 
sand men  to  one  !  " 

"  Give  up  my  sword  !  Giglio  give  up  his  sword  !  "  cried  the 
Prince ;  and  stepping  well  forward  on  to  the  balcony,  the  royal 
youth,  without  preparation^  delivered  a  speech  so  magnificent, 
that  no  report  can  do  justice  to  it.  It  was  all  in  blank  verse 
(in  which,  from  this  time,  he  invariabl}'  spoke,  as  more  becoming 
his  majestic  station) .  It  lasted  for  three  days  and  three  nights, 
during  which  not  a  single  person  who  heard  him  was  tired,  or 
remarked  the  difference  between  daylight  and  dark.  The 
soldiers  onl}^  cheering  tremendously  when  occasionally  —  once 
in  nine  hours  —  the  Prince  paused  to  suck  an  orange,  which 
Jones  took  out  of  the  bag.  He  explained,  in  terms  which  we 
say  we  shall  not  attempt  to  conve}^  the  whole  history  of  the 
previous  transaction,  and  his  determination  not  only  not  to  give 
up  his  sword,  but  to  assume  his  rightful  crown  ;  and  at  the  end 
of  this  extraordinary,  this  truly  gigantic  effort,  Captain  Hedzoff 
flung  up  his  helmet  and  cried,  "  Hurray  !  Hurray  !  Long  live 
King  Giglio ! " 


222 


THE  ROSE  A^^D  THE  RING. 


Such  were  the  consequences  of  having  eniploj^ed  his  time 
well  at  college  ! 

When  the  excitement  had  ceased,  beer  was  ordered  out  for 
the  army,  and  their  Sovereign  himself  did  not  disdain  a  little ! 
And  now  it  was  with  some  alarm  that  Captain  Hedzoff  told  him 
his  division  was  onl}'  the  advanced  guard  of  the  Paflagonian 
contingent  hastening  to  King  Padella's  aid  —  the  main  force 
being  a  day's  march  in  the  rear  under  his  Royal  Highness  Prince 
Bulbo. 

"We  will  wait  here,  good  friend,  to  beat  the  Prince,"  his 
Majesty  said,  "  and  then  will  make  his  royal  Father  wince." 


XV. 

WE  RETURN  TO  ROSALBA. 

King  Padella  made  very  similar  proposals  to  Rosalba  to 
those  which  she  had  received  from  the  various  Princes  who, 
as  we  have  seen,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her.  His  Majest}'  was 
a  widower,  and  offered  to  marry  his  fair  captive  that  instant, 
but  she  decUned  his  invitation  in  her  usual  polite  gentle  man- 
ner, stating  that  Prince  Giglio  was  her  love,  and  that  an}^  other 
union  was  out  of  the  question.  Having  tried  tears  and  sup- 
plications in  vain,  this  violent-tempered  monarch  menaced  her 
with  threats  and  tortures  ;  but  she  declared  she  would  rather 
suffer  all  these  than  accept  the  hand  of  her  father's  murderer, 
who  left  her  finall}',  uttering  the  most  awful  imprecations,  and 
bidding  her  prepare  for  death  on  the  following  morning. 

All  night  long  the  King  spent  in  advising  how  he  should  get 
rid  of  this  obdurate  young  creature.  Cutting  olf  her  head  was 
much  too  easy  a  death  for  her ;  hanging  was  so  common  in  his 
Majesty's  dominions  that  it  no  longer  afforded  him  any  sport : 
finally,  he  bethought  himself  of  a  pair  of  fierce  lions  wliich  had 
lately  been  sent  to  him  as  presents,  and  he  determined,  with 
these  ferocious  brutes,  to  hunt  poor  Rosalba  down.  Adjoining 
his  castle  was  an  amphitheatre  where  the  Prince  indulged  in 
bull-baiting,  rat-hunting,  and  other  ferocious  sports.  The  two 
lions  were  kept  in  a  cage  under  this  place  ;  their  roaring  might 
be  heard  over  the  whole  city,  the  inhabitants  of  which,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  thronged  in  numbers  to  see  a  poor  young  lady 
gobbled  up  by  two  wild  beasts. 


Prince  Giglio's  Speech  to  the  Army. 


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223 


The  King  took  his  place  in  the  royal  box,  having  the  officers  of 
the  Court  around  and  the  Count  Hogginarmo  by  his  side,  upon 
whom  his  Majest}^  was  observed  to  look  very  fiercely :  the  fact 
is,  royal  spies  had  told  the  monarch  of  Hogginarmo's  behavior, 
his  proposals  to  Rosalba,  and  his  offer  to  fight  for  the  crown. 
Black  as  thunder  looked  King  Padella  at  this  proud  noble,  as 
they  sat  in  the  front  seats  of  the  theatre  waiting  to  see  the 
traged}^  whereof  poor  Rosalba  was  to  be  the  heroine. 
At  length  that  Prin- 


cess was  brought  out 
in  her  night-gown, 
with  all  her  beautiful 
hair  faUing  down  her 
back,  and  looking  so 
pretty  that  even  the 
beef-eaters  and  keep- 
ers of  the  wild  ani- 
mals wept  plentifully 
at  seeing  her.  And 
she  walked  with  her 
poor  little  feet  (only 
luckily  the  arena  was 
covered  with  saw- 
dust), and  went  and 
leaned  up  against  a 
great  stone  in  the 
centre  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, round  which 
the  Court  and  the  peo- 
ple were  seated  in 
boxes,  with  bars  be- 
fore them,  for  fear  of 
the  great,  fierce, 
red-maned,  black- 
throated,  long-tailed, 
roaring,  bellowing, 
rushing  lions. 

And  now  the  gates  were  opened,  and  with  a  Wurrawar- 
rurawarar!"  two  great  lean,  hungry,  roaring  lions  rushed  out 
of  their  den,  where  they  had  been  kept  for  three  weeks  on 
nothing  but  a  little  toast-and-water,  and  dashed  straight  up  to 
the  stone  where  poor  Rosalba  was  waiting.  Commend  her 
to  3'our  patron  saints,  all  you  kind  people,  for  she  is  in  a 
dreadful  state. 


224 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


There  was  a  hum  and  a  buzz  all  through  the  circus,  and  the 
fierce  King  Padella  even  felt  a  little  compassion.  But  Count 
Hogginarmo,  seated  by  his  Majesty,  roared  out,  ''Hurray! 


Now  for  it !  Soo-soo-soo  !  "  that  nobleman  being  uncom- 
monly angry  still  at  Rosalba's  refusal  of  him. 

But,  O  strange  event !  O  remarkable  circumstance !  O 
extraordinary  coincidence,  which  I  am  sure  none  of  3'ou  could 
hy  any  possibility  have  divined !  When  the  lions  came  to  Ro- 
salba,  instead  of  devouring  her  with  their  great  teeth,  it  was 
with  kisses  the}^  gobbled  her  up  !  They  licked  her  pretty  feet, 
they  nuzzled  their  noses  in  her  lap,  they  moo'd,  they  seemed 
to  say,  '-Dear,  dear  sister,  don't  3'ou  recollect  your  brothers 
in  the  forest?"  And  she  put  her  pretty  white  arms  round  their 
tawny  necks,  and  kissed  them. 

King  Padella  was  immensely  astonished.  The  Count  Hog- 
ginarmo was  extremely  disgusted.  "  Pooh  ! the  Count  cried. 
''  Gammon  !  "  exclaimed  his  lordship.  These  Hons  arc  tame 
beasts  come  from  Wonib well's  or  Astle3^'s.  It  is  a  shame  to 
put  peo|)h;  off*  in  this  way.  I  believe  they  are  little  bo3's  dressed 
up  in  door-in:its.    Tliey  are  no  lions  at  all." 

Ha!"  said  the  King,  ''you  dare  to  say  'Gammon!'  to 
3'our  Sov(ireign,  do  .you?  These  lions  are  no  lions  at  all,  aren't 
the}'?  Ho,  my  beef-eaters  !  Ho,  my  body-guard  !  Take  this 
Count  Hogginai  iiio  and  fling  him  into  the  circus  !  Give  him  a 
sword  and  buckler,  let  him  keep  his  armor  on  and  his  weather- 
eye  out,  and  fight  these  lions." 


THE  HOSE  AND  THE  RING. 


225 


The  haughty  Hogginarmo  laid  down  his  opera-glass  and 
looked  scowling  round  at  the  King  and  his  attendants.  Touch 
me  not,  dogs !  "  he  said,  or  by  St.  Nicholas  the  Elder,  I  will 
gore  3'ou  !  Your  Majest}'  thinks  Hogginarmo  is  afraid  ?  No, 
not  of  a  hundred  thousand  lions  !  Follow  me  down  into  the 
circus,  King  Padella,  and  match  thyself  against  one  of  yon 
brutes.    Thou  darest  not?    Let  them  both  come  on  then  ! 

And  opening  a  grating  of  the  box,  he  jumped  lightlj'  down 
into  the  circus. 

Wurra  wurra  wurra  wur-aw—aw-aw  I  !  I 
In  about  two  minutes 
The  Count  Hogginarmo  was 

GOBBLED  UP 

by 

those  lions, 
bones,  boots,  and  all, 
and 
There  was  an 
End  of  him. 


At  this  the  King  said,  "  Serve  him  right,  the  rebellious 
ruffian !  And  now,  as  those  lions  won't  eat  that  young  wo- 
man —  " 

Let  her  off!  —  let  her  off !  "  cried  the  crowd. 

NO  !  "  roared  the  King.  Let  the  beef-eaters  go  down 
and  chop  her  into  small  pieces.  If  the  lions  defend  her,  let 
the  archers  shoot  them  to  death.  That  hussy  shall  die  in 
tortures ! " 

"  A-a-ah  !  "  cried  the  crowd.  Shame  !  shame  !  " 
Who  dares  cry  out  '  Shame? ' "  cried  the  furious  potentate 
(so  little  can  tyrants  command  their  passions).  Fling  an}' 
scoundrel  who  saj  s  a  word  down  among  the  lions  !  "  I  warrant 
you  there  was  a  dead  silence  then,  which  was  broken  by  a 
''Pang  arang  pang  pangkarangpang !  "  and  a  Knight  and  a 
Herald  rode  in  at  the  farther  end  of  the  circus  ;  the  Knight 
in  full  armor,  with  his  vizor  up,  and  bearing  a  letter  on  the 
point  of  his  lance. 

^'Ha!"  exclaimed  the  King,  "by  my  fay,  'tis  Elephant 
and  Castle,  pursuivant  of  my  brother  of  Paflagonia ;  and  the 
Knight,  an  my  memory  serves  me,  is  the  gallant  Captain 
Hedzoff  ?  What  news  from  Paflagonia,  gallant  Hedzoff  ?  Ele- 
phant and  Castle,  beshrew  me,  thy  trumpeting  must  have 
made  thee  thirsty.    What  will  m}-  trusty  Herald  like  to  drink  ? " 

15 


226 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


''Bespeaking  first  safe-conduct  from  your  lordship,"  said 
Captain  Hedzoff,  ' '  before  we  take  a  drink  of  anything,  permit 
us  to  deliver  our  King's  message." 

"My  lordship,  ha!"  said  Crim  Tartary,  frowning  terrifi- 
cally. "  That  title  soundeth  strange  in  the  anointed  ears  of  a 
crowned  King.  Straightway  speak  out  your  message,  Knight 
and  Herald  ! " 

Reining  up  his  charger  in  a  most  elegant  manner  close 
under  the  King's  balcony,  Hedzoff  turned  to  the  Herald,  and 
bade  him  begin. 

Elephant  and  Castle,  dropping  his  trumpet  over  his  shoulder, 
took  a  large  sheet  of  paper  out  of  his  hat,  and  began  to  read  :  — 
O  Yes!  O  Yes!  O  Yes!  Know  all  men  by  these  pre- 
sents, that  we,  Giglio,  King  of  Paflagonia,  Grand  Duke  of 
Cappadocia,  Sovereign  Prince  of  Turkey  and  the  Sausage 
Islands,  having  assumed  our  rightful  throne  and  title,  long  time 
falseh'  borne  hy  our  usurping  uncle,  styling  himself  King  of 
Paflagonia  —  " 

^'  Ha  !  "  growled  Padella. 

"Hereby  summon  the  false  traitor  Padella,  calling  himself 
King  of  Crim  Tartar}^  —  " 

The  King's  curses  were  dreadful.  "Go  on.  Elephant  and 
Castle  !  "  said  the  intrepid  Hedzoff. 

"  —  To  release  from  eowardl}'  imprisonment  his  liege  lady 
and  rightful  sovereign,  RosalBxV,  Queen  of  Crim  Tartary,  and 
restore  her  to  her  royal  throne  :  in  default  of  which,  I,  Giglio, 
proclaim  the  said  Padella  sneak,  traitor,  humbug,  usurper,  and 
coward.  I  challenge  him  to  meet  me,  with  fists  or  with 
pistols,  with  battle-axe  or  sword,  with  blunderbuss  or  single- 
stick, alone  or  at  the  head  of  his  army,  on  foot  or  on  horse- 
back ;  and  will  prove  my  words  upon  his  wicked  ugly  body  !  " 

"God  save  the  King!"  said  Captain  Hedzoff,  executing  a 
dcmivolte,  two  semilunes,  and  three  caracols. 

"  Is  that  all?"  said  Padella,  with  the  terrific  calm  of  con- 
centrated fury. 

"That,  sir,  is  all  my  royal  master's  message.  Here  is  his 
Majesty's  letter  in  aut(;grapli,  and  here  is  his  glove  :  and  if  any 
gentleman  of  Crim  Tartnry  chooses  to  find  fault  with  his  Maj- 
esty's expressions,  I,  Kustasoff  Iledzofr,  Ca[)tain  of  the  Guard, 
am  very  much  at  liis  service."  And  he  waved  his  lance,  and 
looked  at  tlui  assembly  all  round. 

"  And  what  says  my  good  brother  of  Paflagonia,  my  dear 
son's  father-in-law,  to  this  rubbish?"  asked  the  King. 

"The  King's  uncle  hath  been  deprived  of  the  crown  he  un- 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


227 


justly  wore,"  said  Heclzoff  gravely.       He  and  his  ex-Minister, 
Glumboso,  are  now  in  prison  waiting  the  sentence  of  my  royal 
master.    After  the  battle  of  Bombardaro  —  " 
Of  what?"  asked  the  surprised  Padella. 

"  —  Of  Bombardaro,  where  m}^  liege,  his  present  Majest}^, 
would  have  performed  prodigies  of  valor,  but  that  the  whole  of 
his  uncle's  arm}'  came  over  to  our  side,  with  the  exception  of 
Prince  Bulbo— " 

''Ah!  my  boy,  my  bo}',  my  Bulbo  was  no  traitor!"  cried 
Padella. 

"  Prince  Bulbo,  far  from  coming  over  to  us,  ran  away,  sir ; 
but  1  caught  him.  The  Prince  is  a  prisoner  in  our  arm}',  and 
the  most  terrific  tortures  await  him  if  a  hair  of  the  Princess 
Rosalba's  head  is  injured." 

''Do  the}'?"  exclaimed  the  furious  Padella,  who  was  now 
perfectly  livid  with  rage.  "Do  they  indeed?  So  much  the 
worse  for  Bulbo.  I've  twenty  sons  as  lovely  each  as  Bulbo. 
Not  one  but  is  as  fit  to  reign  as  Bulbo.  Whip,  whack,  flog, 
starve,  rack,  punish,  torture  Bulbo  —  break  all  his  bones  — 
roast  him  or  flay  him  alive  —  pull  all  his  pretty  teeth  out  one  by 
one  !  But  justly  dear  as  Bulbo  is  to  me,  —  Joy  of  my  eyes, 
fond  treasure  of  my  soul !  —  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  revenge  is  dearer 
still.  Ho!  torturers,  rack-men,  executioners  —  light  up  the 
fires  and  make  the  pincers  hot !  get  lots  of  boiling  lead !  — 
Bring  out  Rosalba  !  " 


XVI. 

HOW  HEDZOFF  RODE  BACK  AGAIN  TO  KING  GIGLIO. 

Captain  Hedzoff  rode  away  when  King  Padella  uttered 
this  cruel  command,  having  done  his  duty  in  delivering  the 
message  with  which  his  royal  master  had  intrusted  him.  Of 
course  he  was  very  sorry  for  Rosalba,  but  what  could  he  do? 

So  he  returned  to  King  Giglio's  camp,  and  found  the  young 
monarch  in  a  disturbed  state  of  mind,  smoking  cigars  in  the 
royal  tent.  His  Majesty's  agitation  was  not  appeased  by  the 
news  that  was  brought  by  his  ambassador.  *^The  brutal, 
ruthless  ruflfian  royal  wretch  !  "  Giglio  exclaimed.  As  Eng- 
land's poesy  has  well  remarked,  '  The  man  that  lays  his  hand 


228 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


upon  a  woman,  save  in  the  way  of  kindness,  is  a  villain.'  Ha, 
Hedzoff?" 

That  he  is,  3'oiir  Majesty,"  said  the  attendant. 
And  didst  thoa  see  her  flung  into  the  oil?  and  didn't  the 
soothing  oil  —  the  emolUent  oil,  refuse  to  boil,  good  Hedzoff — 
and  to  spoil  the  fairest  lady  ever  eyes  did  look  on  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  good  my  hege,  I  had  no  heart  to  look  and  see  a 
beauteous  lady  boiling  down  ;  I  took  your  royal  message  to 
Padella,  and  bore  his  back  to  you.  I  told  him  you  would  hold 
Prince  Bulbo  answerable.  He  only  said  that  he  had  twenty 
sons  as  good  as  Bulbo,  and  forthwith  he  bade  the  ruthless 
executioners  proceed." 

"  O  cruel  father  —  O  unhappy  son,"  cried  the  King.  Go, 
some  of  you,  and  bring  Prince  Bulbo  hither." 

Bulbo  was  brought  in  chains,  looking  ver}^  uncomfortable. 
Though  a  prisoner,  he  had  been  tolerabl}'  happy,  perhaps 
because  his  mind  was  at  rest,  and  all  the  fighting  was  over,  and 
he  was  playing  at  marbles  with  his  guards,  when  the  King  sent 
for  him. 

'^Oh,  m}^  poor  Bulbo,"  said  liis  Majesty,  with  looks  of  in- 
finite compassion,  hast  thou  heard  the  news?"  (for  you  see 
Giglio  wanted  to  break  the  thing  gently  to  the  Prince).  Th}^ 
brutal  father  has  condemned  Rosalba  —  p-p-p-ut  her  to  death, 
P-p-p-prince  Bulbo  !  " 

''What,  killed  Betsinda !  Boo-hoo-hoo !  "  cried  out  Bulbo. 
''Betsinda!  pretty  Betsinda!  dear  Betsinda!  She  was  the 
dearest  little  girl  in  the  world.  I  love  her  better  twenty  thou- 
sand times  even  than  Angelica."  And  he  went  on  expressing 
his  grief  in  so  hearty  and  unaffected  a  manner,  that  the  King 
was  quite  touched  by  it,  and  said,  shaking  Bulbo's  hand,  that 
he  wished  he  had  known  Bulbo  sooner. 

Bulbo,  quite  unconsciously,  and  meaning  for  the  best, 
offered  to  come  and  sit  with  his  Majesty,  and  smoke  a  cigar 
with  him,  and  console  him.  The  royal  kindness  supplied  Bulbo 
with  a  cigar  ;  he  had  not  had  one,  he  said,  since  he  was  taken 
prisoner. 

And  now  think  what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the 
most  merciful  of  rnonorcJts,  when  he  informed  his  prisoner  that, 
in  consequence  of  King  Padella's  cniel  and  dastardly  behavior  to 
Rosalba,  Princci  Ihilbo  must  instantly  be  executed  !  The  noble 
Giglio  could  not  restrain  liis  tears,  nor  could  the  Grenadiers, 
nor  th(^  officers,  nor  could  Bulbo  himself,  when  tlie  matter  was 
explained  to  him  ;  and  he  was  brought  to  understand  that  his 
Majesty's  [)i-()niise,  of  course,  was  above  everyWimg^  and  Bulbo 


ULBO  IS  ORDERED  FOR  EXECUTION. 


OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


229 


must  submit.  So  poor  Bulbo  was  led  out,  —  Hedzoff  trying  to 
console  him  by  pointing  out  that  if  he  had  won  the  battle  of 
Bombardaro,  he  might  have  hanged  Prince  Giglio.  ''Yes! 
But  that  is  no  comfort  to  me  now !  "  said  poor  Bulbo ;  nor 
indeed  was  it,  poor  fellow. 

He  was  told  the  business  would  be  done  the  next  morning 
at  eight,  and  was  taken  back  to  his  dungeon,  where  every 
attention  was  piid  to  him.  The  gaoler's  wife  sent  him  tea,  and 
the  turnkey's  daughter  begged  him  to  write  his  name  in  her 
album,  w^here  a  many  gentlemen  had  wrote  it  on  like  occasions  ! 
''Bother  your  album!"  sa3^s  Bulbo.  The  Undertaker  came 
and  measured  him  for  the  handsomest  coffin  which  money  could 


buy :  even  this  didn't  console  Bulbo.  The  Cook  brought  him 
dishes  which  he  once  used  to  like  ;  but  he  wouldn't  touch  them  : 
he  sat  down  and  began  waiting  an  adieu  to  Angelica,  as  the 
clock  kept  always  ticking  and  the  hands  drawing  nearer  to  the 
next  morning.  The  Barber  came  in  at  night,  and  offered  to 
shave  him  for  the  next  day.  Prince  Bulbo  kicked  him  away, 
and  went  on  writing  a  few  words  to  Princess  Angelica,  as  the 
clock  kept  always  ticking  and  the  hands  hopping  nearer  and 


230 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


nearer  to  next  morning.  He  got  up  on  the  top  of  a  hat-box, 
on  the  top  of  a  chair,  on  the  top  of  his  bed,  on  the  top  of  his 
table,  and  looked  out  to  see  whether  he  might  escape  as  the 
clock  kept  alwa3's  ticking  and  the  hands  drawing  nearer,  and 
nearer,  and  nearer. 

But  looking  out  of  the  w^indow  was  one  thing,  and  jumping 


another :  and  the  town  clock  struck  seven.    So  he  got  into  bed 
for  a  little  sleep,  but  the  gaoler  came  and  woke  him,  and  said. 
Git  up,  your  Ro3^al  Ighness,  if  you  please,  it's  ten  minutes  to 
'°dght.'^ 

So  poor  Bulbo  got  up  :  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  clothes 
(the  lazy  boy),  and  he  shook  himself,  and  said  he  didn't  mind 
about  dressing,  or  having  any  breakfast,  thank  you;  and  he 
saw  tlie  soldiers  who  had  come  for  him.  Lead  on  ! "  he  said  ; 
and  th(;y  led  th(i  way,  deei)ly  affected  ;  and  they  came  into  the 
court-yard,  and  out  into  the  square,  and  there  was  King  Giglio 
come  to  take  l(;av(i  of  him,  and  his  Majesty  most  kindly  shook 
hands  witli  him,  and  the  (jlooniy  jirocession  marched  on  :  —  when 
hark ! 

Haw — wurraw — wuri  aw — aworr  !  " 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  KING.  231 

A  roar  of  wild  beasts  was  heard.  And  who  should  come 
riding  into  the  town,  frightening  away  the  boys,  and  even  the 
beadle  and  policeman,  but  Rosalba  ! 


The  fact  is,  that  when  Captain  Hedzoff  entered  into  the 
court  of  Snapdragon  Castle,  and  was  discoursing  vvith  King 
Padella,  the  Lions  made  a  dash  at  the  open  gate,  gobbled  up 
the  six  beef-eaters  in  a  jiff}',  and  away  they  went  with  Rosalba 
on  the  back  of  one  of  them,  and  they  carried  her,  tarn  and  turn 
about,  till  the}'  came  to  the  cit}'  where  Prince  Giglio's  army 
was  encamped. 

When  the  King  heard  of  the  Queen's  arrival,  you  may 
think  how  he  rushed  out  of  his  breakfast-room  to  hand  her 
Majesty  off  her  Lion  !  The  Lions  were  grown  as  fat  as  pigs 
now,  having  had  Hogginarmo  and  all  those  beef-eaters,  and 
were  so  tame,  anybody  might  pat  them. 

While  Giglio  knelt  (most  gracefully)  and  helped  the  Prin- 
cess, Bulbo,  for  his  part,  rushed  up  and  kissed  the  Lion.  He 
flung  his  arms  round  the  forest  monarch  ;  he  hugged  him,  and 
laughed  and  cried  for  joy.       Oh,  you  darling  old  beast  —  oh  !' 


232 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


kiss.  King  Giglio  slapped  him  most  kindly  on  the  back,  and 
said,  "  Bulbo  m^^  bo}^  I  am  delighted,  for  your  sake,  that  her 
Majest}^  has  arrived." 

''So  am  I,"  said  Bulbo;  "and  you  know  why,''  Captain 
Hedzoff  here  came  up.  ''  Sire,  it  is  half-past  eight:  shall  we 
proceed  with  the  execution?" 

P^xecution?  what  for?"  asked  Bulbo. 

"  An  oflicer  onl}'  knows  his  orders,"  replied  Captain  Hedz- 
off, showing  his  warrant :  on  which  his  Majesty  King  Giglio 
smilingly  said  Prince  Bul))o  was  reprieved  this  time,  and  most 
graciously  invited  him  to  breakfast. 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


233 


XVII. 

HOW  A  TREMENDOUS  BATTLE  TOOK  PLACE,   AND  WHO  WON  IT. 

As  soon  as  King  Padella  heard  —  what  we  know  ah'eady  — 
that  his  victim,  the  lovel}^  Rosalba,  had  escaped  him,  his  Majes- 
ty's  fury  knew  no  bounds,  and  he  pitched  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
Lord  Chamberlain,  and  every  officer  of  the  Crown  whom  he 
could  set  eyes  on,  into  the  caldron  of  boiling  oil  prepared  for 
the  Princess.  Then  he  ordered  out  his  whole  army,  horse, 
foot,  and  artillery  ;  and  set  forth  at  the  head  of  an  innumerable 
host,  and  I  should  think  twent}^  thousand  drummers,  trumpet- 
ers, and  fifers. 

King  Giglio's  advanced  guard,  3^ou  ma}^  be  sure,  kept  that 
monarch  acquainted  with  the  enemj^'s  dealings,  and  he  was  in 
nownse  disconcerted.  He  was  much  too  polite  to  alarm  the 
Princess,  his  lovely  guest,  with  any  unnecessary^  rumors  of 
battles  impending ;  on  the  contrary,  he  did  everything  to 
amuse  and  divert  her ;  gave  her  a  most  elegant  breakfast, 
dinner,  lunch,  and  got  up  a  ball  for  her  that  evening,  when  he 
danced  with  her  ever}^  single  dance. 

Poor  Bulbo  was  taken  into  favor  again,  and  allowed  to  go 
quite  free  now.  He  had  new  clothes  given  him,  was  called 
''My  good  cousin"  by  his  Majesty^  and  was  treated  with  the 
greatest  distinction  by  everybody.  But  it  was  easy  to  see  he 
was  very  melancholy.  The  fact  is,  the  sight  of  Betsinda,  who 
looked  perfectly  lovel}'  in  an  elegant  new  dress,  set  poor  Bulbo 
frantic  in  love  with  her  again.  And  he  never  thought  about 
Angelica,  now  Princess  Bulbo,  whom  he  had  left  at  home,  and 
who,  as  we  know,  did  not  care  much  about  him. 

The  King,  dancing  the  twenty-fifth  polka  with  Rosalba,  re- 
marked with  wonder  the  ring  she  wore  ;  and  then  Rosalba  told 
him  how  she  had  got  it  from  Gruffanuff,  who  no  doubt  had 
picked  it  up  when  Angelica  flung  it  away. 

''Yes,"  says  the  Fairy  Blackstick  —  who  had  come  to  see 
the  young  people,  and  who  had  very  likelv  certain  plans  regard- 
ing them  —  ''  that  ring  I  gave  the  Queen,  Giglio's  mother,  who 
was  not,  saving  3'our  presence,  a  very  wise  woman  :  it  is  en- 
chanted, and  whoever  wears  it  looks  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world.  I  made  poor  Prince  Bulbo,  when  he  was  christened, 
the  present  of  a  rose  which  made  him  look  handsome  while  he 


234 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


had  it ;  but  lie  gave  it  to  Angelica,  who  instantly  looked  beau- 
tiful again,  whilst  Bulbo  relapsed  into  his  natural  plainness." 

''Rosalba  needs  no  ring,  I  am  sure,"  says  Giglio,  with  a 
low  bow.  She  is  beautiful  enough,  in  my  eyes,  without  any 
enchanted  aid." 

"Oh,  sir!"  said  Rosalba. 

"  Take  off  the  ring  and  tr}^,"  said  the  King,  and  resolutely 
drew  the  ring  off  her  finger.  In  his  eyes  she  looked  just  as 
handsome  as  before  ! 

The  King  was  thinking  of  throwing  the  ring  away,  as  it  was 
so  dangerous  and  made  all  the  people  so  mad  about  Rosalba ; 
but  being  a  prince  of  great  humor,  and  good-humor  too,  he  cast 
eyes  upon  a  poor  j  outh  who  happened  to  be  looking  on  very 
disconsolately^,  and  said  — 

''Bulbo  my  poor  lad!  come  and  try  on  this  ring.  The 
Princess  Rosalba  makes  it  a  present  to  3'ou."  The  magic 
properties  of  this  ring  were  uncommonly  strong,  for  no  sooner 
had  Bulbo  put  it  on,  but  lo  and  behold,  he  appeared  a  persona- 
ble, agreeable  3'oung  prince  enough  —  with  a  fine  complexion, 
fair  hair,  rather  stout,  and  with  bandy  legs  ;  but  these  were 
encased  in  such  a  beautiful  pair  of  yellow  morocco  boots  that 
nobody  remarked  them.  And  Bulbo's  spirits  rose  up  almost 
immediately  after  he  had  looked  in  the  glass,  and  he  talked 
to  their  Majesties  in  the  most  lively,  agreeable  manner,  and 
danced  opposite  the  Queen  with  one  of  the  prettiest  Maids  of 
Honor,  and  after  looking  at  her  Majest}',  could  not  help  saying, 
"  How  very  odd  ;  she  is  very  pretty,  but  not  so  extraordinarily/ 
handsome."  ''Oh,  no,  b}^  no  means!"  says  the  Maid  of 
Honor. 

"But  what  care  I,  dear  sir,"  says  the  Queen,  who  over- 
heard them,  "  if  i/o?i  think  I  am  good-looking  enough?" 

His  Majesty's  glance  in  reply  to  this  affectionate  speech  was 
such  that  no  painter  could  draw  it.  And  the  Fairy  Blackstick 
said,  "  IMess  3T)u,  my  darling  chiklren !  Now  you  are  united 
and  happy ;  and  now  3^ou  see  what  I  said  from  the  first,  that 
a  little  misfortune  has  done  you  both  good.  Tou,  Giglio,  had 
you  been  bred  in  prosperitv,  would  scarcely  have  learned  to 
read  or  write  —  you  would  have  been  idle  and  extravagant,  and 
could  not  have  been  a  good  King  as  you  now  will  be.  You, 
Rosalba,  would  have  lieen  so  flattered,  that  your  little  head 
might  have  been  turned  like  Angelica's,  who  thought  herself 
too  good  for  CiigHo." 

"As  if  anybody  could  be  good  enough  for  Am,"  cried 
Rosalba. 


THE  KOSE  THE  RING. 


235 


"  Oh,  you,  you  darling!"  says  Giglio.  And  so  she  was ; 
and  he  was  just  holding  out  his  arms  in  order  to  give  her  a  hug 
before  the  whole  company,  when  a  messenger  came  rushing  in 
and  said,  "  My  lord,  the  enemy  !  " 

"  To  arras  !  "  cries  Gigiio. 

"Oh,  mercy!"  says  Rosalba,  and  fainted  of  course.  He 
snatched  one  kiss  from  her  lips,  and  rushed  forth  to  the  Jield  of 
battle ! 

The  Fairy  had  provided  King  Gigiio  with  a  suit  of  armor, 
which  was  not  only  embroidered  all  over  with  jewels,  and  blind- 
ing to  3^our  ejxs  to  look  at,  but  was  water-proof,  gun-proof, 
and  sword-proof :  so  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  very  hottest 
battles,  his  Majesty  rode  about  as  calml}-  as  if  he  had  been  a 
British  Grenadier  at  Alma.  Were  I  engaged  in  fighting  for 
my  country,  /  should  like  such  a  suit  of  armor  as  Prince  Gigiio 
wore  ;  but,  3'ou  know,  he  was  a  prince  of  a  fairy  tale,  and  they 
always  have  these  wonderful  things. 

Besides  the  fairy  armor,  the  Prince  ha  1  a  fairy  horse,  which 
would  gallop  at  any  pace  you  please;  and  a  fairy  sword, 
which  would  lengthen,  and  run  through  a  whole  regiment  of 
enemies  at  once.  With  such  a  weapon  at  command,  I  wonder, 
for  my  part,  he  thought  of  ordering  his  army  out ;  but  forth 
they  all  came,  in  magnificent  new  uniforms  :  Hedzoff  and  the 
Prince's  two  college  friends  each  commanding  a  division,  and 
his  Majesty  prancing  in  person  at  the  head  of  them  all. 

Ah  !  if  I  had  the  pen  of  a  Sir  Archibakl  Alison,  my  dear 
friends,  would  I  not  now  entertain  you  with  the  account  of  a 
most  tremendous  shindy?  Should  not  fine  blows  be  struck? 
dreadful  wounds  be  delivered?  arrows  darken  the  air?  cannon- 
balls  crash  through  the  battalions?  calvary  charge  infantry? 
infantry  pitch  into  cavalry?  bugles  blow;  drums  beat;  horses 
neigh ;  fifes  sing  ;  soldiers  roar,  swear,  hurrav  ;  officers  shout 
out,  ''Forward,  my  men!"  ''This  way,  lads!"  '-Give  it 
'em,  boys  !  "  ''  Fight  for  King  Gigiio  and  the  cause  of  rio-ht !  " 
"King  Padella  for  ever!"  Would  I  not  describe  all  this,  I 
say,  and  in  the  very  finest  language  too?  But  this  humble 
pen  does  not  possess  the  skill  necessary  for  the  description  of 
combats.  In  a  word,  the  overthrow  of  King  Padella's  army 
was  so  complete,  that  if  they  had  been  Russians  vou  could 
not  have  wished  them  to  be  more  utterly  smashed'  and  con- 
founded. 

As  for  that  usurping  monarch,  having  performed  acts  of 
valor  much  more  considerable  than  could  be  expected  of  a 


236 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


royal  ruffian  and  usurper,  who  had  such  a  bad  cause,  and  who 
was  so  cruel  to  women,  —  as  for  King  Padella,  I  say,  when  his 
arm}'  ran  awaj'  the  King  ran  awa}^  too,  kicking  his  first  General, 
Prince  Punchikoff',  from  his  saddle,  and  galloping  away  on  the 
Prince's  horse,  having,  indeed,  had  twenty-five  or  twenty-six 
of  his  own  shot  under  him.  Hedzoff  coming  up,  and  finding 
Punchikoff  down,  as  you  may  imagine,  very  speedik  disposed 
of  Mm.  Meanwhile  King  Padella  was  scampering  off  as  hard 
as  his  horse  could  lay  legs  to  ground.  Fast  as  he  scampered, 
I  promise  you  somebod}^  else  galloped  faster ;  and  that  indi- 
vidual, as  no  doubt  you  are  aware,  was  the  royal  Giglio,  who 
kept  bawling  out,  Sta}^  traitor  !  Turn,  miscreant,  and  defend 
thyself!  Stand,  tyrant,  coward,  ruffian,  roj^al  wretch,  till  I  cut 
thy  ugl}'  head  from  thy  usurping  shoulders  !  "  And,  with  his 
fairy  sword,  which  elongated  itself  at  will,  his  Majesty  kept 
poking  and  prodding  Padella  in  the  back,  until  that  wicked 
monarch  roared  with  anguish. 

When  he  was  fairl}'  brought  to  hay,  Padella  turned  and  dealt 
Prince  Giglio  a  prodigious  crack  over  the  sconce  with  his  battle- 
axe,  a  most  enormous  weapon,  which  had  cut  down  I  don't 
know  how  njany  regiments  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon.  But 
law  bless  you  !  though  the  blow  fell  right  down  on  his  Majesty's 
helmet,  it  made  no  more  impression  than  if  Padella  had  struck 
him  with  a  pat  of  butter  :  his  battle-axe  crumpled  up  in  Padella's 
hand,  and  the  royal  Giglio  laughed  for  very  scorn  at  the  im- 
potent efforts  of  that  atrocious  usurper. 

At  the  ill  success  of  his  blow  the  Crim  Tartar  monarch  was 
justl}'  irritated.  "If,"  says  he  to  Gigho,  "  3'ou  ride  a  fairy 
horse,  and  wear  fair}^  armor,  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  my 
hitting  you?  I  may  as  well  give  m3'self  up  a  prisoner  at  once. 
Your  Majesty  won't,  I  suppose,  be  so  mean  as  to  strike  a  poor 
fellow  who  can't  strike  again?" 

The  justice  of  Padtdla's  remark  struck  the  magnanimous 
Giglio.       Do  you  yield  yourself  a  prisoner,  I'adella?"  says  he. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  says  Padella. 

"  Do  you  acknowledge  Rosalba  as  your  rightful  Queen, 
and  give  up  the  crown  and  all  your  treasures  to  your  rightful 
mistress  ?  " 

"  If  I  must  I  must,"  says  Padella,  who  was  naturally  very 
sulky. 

By  this  time  King  Giglio's  aides-de-camp  had  come  up, 
whom  his  Majesty  onUired  to  bind  the  prisoner.  And  they  tied 
his  hands  behind  him,  and  bound  his  legs  tight  under  his  horse, 
having  set  him  with  his  face  to  the  tail ;  and  in  this  fashion  he 


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OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  lUINOIS 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


237 


was  led  back  to  King  Giglio's  quarters,  and  thrust  into  the  very 
dungeon  where  young  Bulbo  had  been  confined. 

Padella  (who  was  a  very  different  person,  in  the  depth  of  his 
distress,  to  Padella  the  proud  wearer  of  the  Crim  Tartar  crown,) 
now  most  affectionately  and  earnestl}^  asked  to  see  his  son  —  his 
dear  eldest  boy  —  his  darling  Bulbo ;  and  that  good-natured 
young  man  never  once  reproached  his  haughty  parent  for  his 
unkind  conduct  the  day  before,  when  he  would  have  left  Bulbo 
to  be  shot  without  any  pity,  but  came  to  see  his  father,  and 
spoke  to  him  through  the  grating  of  the  door,  beyond  which  he 
was  not  allowed  to  go  ;  and  brought  him  some  sandwiches  from 
the  grand  supper  which  his  Majesty  was  giving  above  stairs,  in 
honor  of  the  briUiant  victory  which  had  just  been  achieved. 

'^I  cannot  stay  with  you  long,  sir,"  says  Bulbo,  who  was 
in  his  best  ball  dress,  as  he  handed  his  father  in  the  prog. 
''I  am  engaged  to  dance  the  next  quadrille  with  her  Majesty 
Queen  Rosalba,  and  I  hear  the  fiddles  pla3  ing  at  this  yery  mo- 
ment." 

So  Bulbo  went  back  to  the  ball-room,  and  the  wretched 
Padella  ate  his  solitary  supper  in  silence  and  tears. 

All  was  now  joy  in  King  Giglio's  circle.  Dancing,  feasting, 
fun,  illuminations,  and  jollifications  of  all  sorts  ensued.  The 
people  through  whose  villages  they  passed  were  ordered  to 
illuminate  their  cottages  at  night,  and  scatter  flowers  on  the 
roads  during  the  da\\  They  were  requested  —  and  I  promise 
3'ou  they  did  not  like  to  refuse  —  to  serve  the  troops  liberally 
with  eatables  and  wine  ;  besides,  the  army  was  enriched  by 
the  immense  quantity  of  plunder  which  was  found  in  King 
Padella's  camp,  and  taken  from  his  soldiers  ;  who  (after  they 
had  given  up  everything)  were  allowed  to  fraternize  with  the 
conquerors  ;  and  the  united  forces  marched  back  by  eas}'  stages 
towards  King  Giglio's  capital,  his  royal  banner  and  that  of 
Queen  Rosalba  being  carried  in  front  of  the  troops.  Hedzolf 
was  made  a  Duke  and  a  Field  Marshal.  Smith  and  Jones  were 
promoted  to  be  Earls  ;  the  Crim  Tartar  Order  of  the  Pumpkin 
and  the  Paflagonian  decoration  of  the  Cucumber  were  freely 
distributed  by  their  Majesties  to  the  army.  Queen  Rosalba 
wore  the  Paflagonian  Ribbon  of  the  Cucumber  across  her  riding- 
habit,  whilst  King  Giglio  never  appeared  without  the  grand 
Cordon  of  the  Pumpkin.  How  the  people  cheered  them  as  the\' 
rode  along  side  by  side  !  They  were  pronounced  to  be  the 
handsomest  couple  ever  seen  :  that  was  a  matter  of  course  ;  but 
they  really  were  very  handsome,  and,  had  they  been  otherwise, 


238 


THE  KOSE  a:N"D  THE  KING. 


would  have  looked  so,  the}^  were  so  happj^ !  Their  Majesties 
were  never  separated  during  the  whole  day,  but  breakfasted, 
dined,  and  supped  together  alwa}  s,  and  rode  side  by  side,  in- 
terchanging elegant  compliments,  and  indulging  in  the  most 
delightful  conversation.  At  night,  her  Majest^^'s  ladies  of 
honor  (who  had  all  rallied  round  her  the  day  after  King  Padella's 
defeat,)  came  and  conducted  her  to  the  apartments  prepared 
for  her  ;  whilst  King  Giglio,  surrounded  by  his  gentlemen,  with- 


drew to  his  own  Royal  quarters.  It  was  agreed  tliey  should  be 
married  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  capital,  and  orders  were 
despat(^lied  to  the  Archbishoi)  of  lUomlKxlinga,  to  hold  himself 
in  readiness  to  perfoi'm  th(i  intc^'esting  cenunony.  Duke  Iledz- 
off  (tarried  the  message,  and  gave  instructions  to  have  the 
Royal  Castle  splendidly  rc^furnished  and  painted  afresh.  The 
Duke  seized  Olumboso,  the  ex- Prime  Minister,  and  made  him 


THE  R08E  AND  THE  RING. 


239 


refund  that  considerable  sum  of  money  which  the  old  scoundrel 
had  secreted  out  of  the  late  King's  treasure.  He  also  clapped 
Valoroso  into  prison  (who,  by  the  way,  had  been  dethroned  for 
some  considerable  period  past),  and  when  the  ex-monarch 
weakly  remonstrated,  Hedzoff  said,  A  soldier.  Sir,  knows 
but  his  duty  ;  my  orders  are  to  lock  you  up  along  with  the 
ex-King  Padella,  whom  I  have  brought  hither  a  prisoner  under 
guard."  So  these  two  ex-Roj-al  personages  were  sent  for  a 
year  to  the  House  of  Correction,  and  thereafter  were  obliged  to 
become  monks  of  the  severest  Order  of  Flagellants  —  in  which 
state,  b}^  fasting,  by  vigils,  by  flogging  (which  the\^  administered 
to  one  another,  humblj^  but  resolutely),  no  doubt  the}'  exhibited 
a  repentance  for  their  past  misdeeds,  usurpations,  and  private 
and  public  crimes. 

•  As  for  Glumboso,  that  rogue  was  sent  to  the  galleys,  and 
never  had  an  opportunity  to  steal  any  more. 


XVIII. 

HOW  THEY  ALL  JOURNEYED  BACK  TO  THE  CAPITAL. 

The  Fair}^  Blackstick,  by  whose  means  this  young  King 
and  Queen  had  certainly  won  their  respective  crowns  back, 
would  come  not  unfrequently  to  pay  them  a  little  visit  —  as 
they  were  riding  in  their  triumphal  progress  towards  Giglio's 
capital — change  her  wand  into  a  pony,  and  travel  by  their 
Majesties'  side,  giving  them  the  very  best  advice.  I  am  not 
sure  that  King  Giglio  did  not  think  the  Fairy  and  Iier  advice 
rather  a  bore,  fancying  it  was  his  own  valor  and  merits  which 
had  put  him  on  his  throne,  and  conquered  Padella :  and,  in 
fine,  I  fear  he  rather  gave  himself  airs  towards  his  best  friend 
and  patroness.  She  exhorted  him  to  deal  justly  by  his  sub- 
jects, to  draw  mildly  on  the  taxes,  never  to  break  his  promise 
when  he  had  once  given  it  —  and  in  all  respects  to  be  a  good 
King. 

''A  good  King,  my  dear  Fairy!"  cries  Rosalba.  Of 
course  he  will.  Break  his  promise  !  can  you  fancy  mv  Giglio 
would  ever  do  anything  so  improper,  so  unlike  him  ?  No ! 
never !  "  And  she  looked  fondly  towards  Giglio,  whom  she 
thought  a  pattern  of  perfection. 


240  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


"  Why  is  Fairy  Blackstick  always  advising  me,  and  telling 
me  how  to  manage  m}^  government,  and  warning  me  to  keep 
my  word  ?  Does  she  suppose  that  I  am  not  a  man  of  sense, 
and  a  man  of  honor?"  asks  Giglio,  testily.  Methinks  she 
rather  presumes  upon  her  position." 

Hush  !  dear  Giglio,"  says  Rosalba.  ^'  You  know  Black- 
stick  has  been  very  kind  to  us,  and  we  must  not  offend  her." 
But  the  Fairj'  was  not  listening  to  Gigiio's  testy  observations : 
she  had  fallen  back,  and  was  trotting  on  her  pony  now,  by 
Master  Bulbo's  side  —  who  rode  a  donkey,  and  made  himself 
generally  beloved  in  the  arm}^  hy  his  cheerfulness,  kindness, 
and  good-humor  to  everybody.  He  was  eager  to  see  his  dar- 
ling Angelica.  He  thought  there  never  was  such  a  charming 
being.  Blackstick  did  not  tell  him  it  was  the  possession  of  the 
magic  rose  that  made  Angelica  so  lovel}'  in  his  eyes.  She 
brought  him  the  xery  best  accounts  of  his  little  wife,  whose 
misfortunes  and  humiliations  had  indeed  ver}'  greatly  improved 
her ;  and  you  see,  she  could  whisk  off  on  her  wand  a  hundred 
miles  in  a  minute,  and  be  back  in  no  time,  and  so  carry  polite 
messages  from  Bulbo  to  Angehca,  and  from  Angelica  to  Bulbo, 
and  comfort  that  3'oung  man  upon  his  journey. 

When  the  Royal  party  arrived  at  the  last  stage  before  3'ou 
reach  Blombodinga,  who  should  be  in  waiting,  in  her  carriage 
there,  with  her  lad}'  of  honor  b}^  her  side,  but  the  Princess 
Angelica?  She  rushed  into  her  husband's  arms,  scarcel}^  stop- 
ping to  make  a  passing  curts}'  to  the  King  and  Queen.  She 
had  no  eyes  but  for  Bulbo,  who  appeared  perfectly  lovely  to  her 
on  account  of  the  fairy  ring  which  he  wore ;  whilst  she  herself, 
wearing  the  magic  rose  in  her  bonnet,  seemed  entirel}'  beautiful 
to  the  enraptured  Bulbo. 

A  splendid  luncheon  was  served  to  the  Royal  party,  of 
which  the  Archbishop,  the  Chancellor,  the  Duke  Hedzoff, 
Countess  Gruffanuff,  and  all  our  friends  partook  —  the  Fairy 
Blackstick  being  seated  on  the  left  of  King  Giglio,  with  Bulbo 
and  Angelica  beside.  You  could  hear  the  joy-bells  ringing  in 
the  capital,  and  the  guns  which  the  citizens  were  firing  off  in 
honor  of  their  Majesties. 

What  can  have  induced  that  hideous  old  Gruffanuff  to 
dress  herself  up  in  such  an  absurd  way?  Did  you  ask  her 
to  be  your  bridesmaid,  my  dear?"  says  Giglio  to  Rosalba. 
"  What  a  figure  of  fun  Grufly  is  ! " 

Gruffy  was  seated  opposite  their  Majesties,  between  the 
Archbisho[)  and  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and  a  figure  of  fun  she 
certainly  was,  for  she  was  dressed  in  a  low  white  silk  dress, 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


241 


with  lace  over,  a  wreath  of  white  roses  on  her  wig,  a  splendid 
lace  veil,  and  her  yellow  old  neck  was  covered  with  diamonds. 
She  ogled  the  King  in  such  a  manner,  that  his  Majesty  burst 
out  laughing. 

Eleven  o'clock  !  "  cries  Giglio,  as  the  great  Cathedral  bell 
of  Blombodinga  tolled  that  hour.  ^'  Gentlemen  and  ladies,  we 
must  be  starting.  Archbishop,  you  must  be  at  church  I  think 
before  twelve  ?  " 

*  We  must  be  at  church  before  twelve,"  sighs  out  Gruff- 
anuff  in  a  languishing  voice,  hiding  her  old  face  behind  her 
fan. 

"  And  then  I  shall  be  the  happiest  man  in  my  dominions," 
cries  Giglio,  with  an  elegant  bow  to  the  blushing  Rosalba. 

"  Oh,  my  Giglio  !  Oh,  my  dear  Majesty  !  "  exclaims  Gruff- 
anuff ;  and  can  it  be  that  this  happy  moment  at  length  has 
arrived  —  "  • 

Of  course  it  has  arrived,"  says  the  King. 

"  —  And  that  I  am  about  to  become  the  enraptured  bride 
of  my  adored  Gigho !  "  continues  Gruffanuff.  ''Lend  me  a 
smelling-bottle,  somebodj^    I  certainly  shall  faint  with  joy." 

''  Tou  my  bride?  "  roars  out  Giglio. 

' '  Tou  marry  my  Prince  ?  "  cries  poor  little  Rosalba. 

''Pooh!  Nonsense!  The  woman's  mad!"  exclaims  the 
King.  And  all  the  courtiers  exhibited  by  their  countenances 
and  expressions,  marks  of  surprise  or  ridicule,  or  incredulity 
or  wonder. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who  else  is  going  to  be  married,  if 
I  am  not?"  shrieks  out  Gruffanulf.  "  I  should  like  to  know 
if  King  Giglio  is  a  gentleman,  and  if  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  justice  in  Paflagonia?  Lord  Chancellor!  my  Lord  Arch- 
bishop !  will  3'our  lordships  sit  by  and  see  a  poor  fond,  con- 
fiding, tender  creature  put  upon?  Has  not  Prince  Giglio 
promised  to  marry  his  Barbara?  Is  not  this  Giglio's  signa- 
ture? Does  not  this  paper  declare  that  he  is  mine,  and  onl}' 
mine?"  And  she  handed  to  his  Grace  the  Archbishop  the 
document  which  the  Prince  signed  that  evening  when  she 
wore  the  magic  ring,  and  Giglio  drank  so  much  champagne. 
And  the  old  Archbishop,  taking  out  his  eye-glasses,  read  — 
"  This  is  to  give  notice  that  I,  Giglio,  only  son  of  Savio, 
King  of  Paflagonia,  hereby  promise  to  marry  the  charming 
Barbara  Griselda  Countess  Gruffanuff,  and  widow  of  the  late 
Jenkins  Gruffanuff,  Esq." 

"  H'm,"  says  the  Archbishop,  "  the  document  is  certainly 
a  —  a  document." 

16 


242 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


"  Phoo !  "  saj's  the  Lord  Chancellor :  "  the  signature  is  not 
in  his  Majest3^'s  handwriting."  Indeed,  since  his  studies  at 
Bosforo,  Gigho  had  made  an  immense  improvement  in  calig- 
raphy. 

''Is  it  3^our  handwriting,  Giglio?  "  cries  the  Fairy  Black- 
stick,  with  an  awful  severity  of  countenance. 

"Y — y — y — es,"  poor  Giglio  gasps  out.  "I  had  quite 
forgotten  the  confounded  paper :  she  can't  mean  to  hold  me 
b}^  it.  You  old  wretch,  what  will  you  take  to  let  me  off? 
Help  the  Queen,  some  one  —  her  Majesty  has  fainted." 

Chop  her  head  off !  "  exclaim  the  impetuous  Hedz- 

"  Smother  the  old  witch!"  >•     off,  the  ardent  Smith,  and 

''  Pitch  her  into  the  river  !  "  j     the  faithful  Jones. 

But  Gruffanuff'  flung  her  arms  round  the  Archbishop's  neck 
and  bellowed  out,  ''  Justice,  justice,  my  Lord  Chancellor!  "  so 
loudly,  that  her  piercing  shrieks  caused  everj'body  to  pause. 
As  for  Rosalba,  she  was  borne  away  lifeless  by  her  ladies ;  and 
3^ou  ma}'  imagine  the  look  of  agony  which  Giglio  cast  towards 
that  lovely  being,  as  his  hope,  his  jo}^,  his  darling,  his  all  in 
all,  was  thus  removed,  and  in  her  place  the  horrid  old  Gruff- 
anuff rushed  up  to  his  side,  and  once  more  shrieked  out, 
"  Justice,  justice  !  " 

"  AYon't  you  take  that  sum  of  money  which  Glumboso  hid?" 
says  Giglio  :  "  two  hundred  and  eighteen  thousand  millions,  or 
thereabouts.    It's  a  handsome  sum." 

' '  I  will  have  that  and  you  too  ?  "  says  Gruffanuff. 
Let  us  throw  the  crown  jewels  into  the  bargain,"  gasps 
out  Giglio. 

''  I  will  wear  them  by  my  Giglio's  side  !  "  says  Gruffanuff. 
Will  half,  three-quarters,  five-sixths,  nineteen-twentieths, 
of  my  kingdom  do,  Countess?"  asks  the  trembling  monarch. 

"What  were  all  Europe  to  me  without  you^  my  Giglio?" 
ories  Gruff,  kissing  his  hand. 

"  I  won't,  I  can't,  I  shan't,  —  PU  resign  the  crown  first," 
shouts  Giglio,  tearing  away  his  hand  ;  but  Gruff  clung  to  it. 

"  I  have  a  competency,  my  love,"  she  says,  "  and  with  thee 
and  a  cottage  th}^  Barbara  will  be  happ3\" 

Giglio  was  half  mad  with  rage  by  this  time.  "I  will  not 
marry  lier,"  says  he.  "  Oh,  Fairy,  Fairy,  give  me  counsel!" 
And  as  he  spok(^  he  looked  wildly  round  at  the  severe  face  of 
the  Fairy  Blackstick. 

"  '  Why  is  Fairy  Blackstick  alwaj's  advising  me,  and  warn- 
ing me  to  keep  my  word?  Does  she  sui)pose  that  I  am  not 
a  man  of  honor?'"    said  the   Fairy,  quoting  Giglio's  own 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


243 


haughty  words.  He  quailed  under  the  brightness  of  her 
eyes :  he  felt  that  there  was  no  escape  for  him  from  that 
awful  Inquisition. 

Well,  Archbishop,"  said  he,  in  a  dreadful  voice  that  made 
his  Grace  start,  ' '  since  this  Fairy  has  led  me  to  the  height  of 
happiness  but  to  dash  me  down  into  the  depths  of  despair, 
since  I  am  to  lose  Rosalba,  let  me  at  least  keep  my  honor. 
Get  up.  Countess,  and  let  us  be  married  ;  I  can  keep  my  word, 
but  I  can  die  afterwards." 

'^O  dear  Giglio,"  cries  Gruffanuff,  skipping  up,  "  I  knew,  I 
knew  I  could  trust  thee  —  I  knew  that  m}^  Prince  was  the  soul 
of  honor.  Jump  into  3'our  carriages,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and 
let  us  go  to  church  at  once  ;  and  as  for  dying,  dear  Giglia, 
no,  no  :  —  thou  wilt  forget  that  insignificant  little  chambermaid 
of  a  queen  —  thou  wilt  live  to  be  consoled  by  th}^  Barbara ! 
She  wishes  to  be  a  Queen,  and  not  a  Queen  Dowager,  my 
gracious  lord !  "  And  hanging  upon  poor  Giglio's  arm,  and 
leering  and  grinning  in  his  face  in  the  most  disgusting  manner, 
this  old  wretch  tripped  off  in  her  white  satin  shoes,  and  jumped 
into  the  very  carriage  which  had  been  got  ready  to  convey 
Giglio  and  Rosalba  to  church.  The  cannons  roared  again,  the 
bells  pealed  triple-bobmajors,  the  people  came  out  flinging 
flowers  upon  the  path  of  the  roj^al  bride  and  bridegroom,  and 
Grufl"  looked  out  of  the  gilt  coach  window  and  bowed  and 
grinned  to  them.    Phoo  !  the  horrid  old  wretch ! 


XIX. 

AND  NOW  WE  COME  TO  THE  LAST  SCENE  IN  THE  PANTOMIME. 

The  many  ups  and  downs  of  her  life  had  given  the  Princess 
Rosalba  prodigious  strength  of  mind,  and  that  highly  prin- 
cipled 3^oung  woman  presently  recovered  from  her  fainting-fit, 
out  of  which  Fairy  Blackstick,  b}'  a  precious  essence  which  the 
Fairy  always  carried  in  her  pocket,  awakened  her.  Instead  of 
tearing  her  hair,  crying,  and  bemoaning  herself,  and-  fainting 
again,  as  many  3'oung  women  would  have  done,  Rosalba  re- 
membered that  she  owed  an  example  of  firmness  to  her  subjects  ; 
and  though  she  loved  Giglio  more  than  her  life,  was  determined, 
as  she  told  the  Fairy,  not  to  interfere  between  him  and  justice, 
or  to  cause  him  to  break  his  royal  word. 


244 


THE  ROSE  AXD  THE  RING. 


"  I  cannot  marry  him,  but  I  shall  love  him  always,"  says 
she  to  Blackstick ;  ''I  will  go  and  be  present  at  his  marriage 
with  the  Countess,  and  sign  the  book,  and  wish  them  happy 
with  all  m\^  heart.  I  will  see,  when  I  get  home,  whether  I 
cannot  make  the  new  Queen  some  handsome  presents.  The 
Crim  Tartar}^  crown  diamonds  are  uncommonly  fine,  and  I  shall 
never  have  any  use  for  them.  I  will  live  and  die  unmarried 
like  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  of  course  I  shall  leave  my  crown  to 
Giglio  when  I  quit  this  world.  Let  us  go  and  see  them  married, 
my  dear  Fairj^ ;  let  me  say  one  last  farewell  to  him  ;  and  then, 
if  3'ou  please,  I  will  return  to  my  own  dominions." 

So  the  Fairy  kissed  Rosalba  with  peculiar  tenderness,  and 
at  once  changed  her  wand  into  a  very  comfortable  coach-and- 
four,  with  a  stead}^  coachman,  and  two  respectable  footmen 
behind,  and  the  Fairy  and  Rosalba  got  into  the  coach,  which 
Angelica  and  Bulbo  entered  after  them.  As  for  honest  Bulbo, 
he  was  blubbering  in  the  most  pathetic  manner,  quite  over- 
come b}'  Rosalba's  misfortune.  She  was  touched  by  the  honest 
fellow's  sympathy,  promised  to  restore  to  him  the  confiscated 
estates  of  Duke  Padella  his  father,  and  created  him,  as  lie  sat 
there  in  the  coach.  Prince,  Highness,  and  First  Grandee  of  the 
Crim  Tartar  Empire.  The  coach  moved  on,  and,  being  a  fairj^ 
coach,  soon  came  up  with  the  bridal  procession. 

Before  the  ceremony  at  church  it  was  the  custom  in  Pafla- 
gonia,  as  it  is  in  other  countries,  for  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
to  sign  the  Contract  of  Marriage,  which  was  to  be  witnessed  b}^ 
the  Chancellor,  Minister,  Lord  Mayor,  and  principal  officers 
of  state.  Now,  as  the  royal  palace  was  being  painted  and  fur- 
nished anew,  it  was  not  read}^  for  the  reception  of  the  King  and 
his  bride,  who  proposed  at  first  to  take  up  their  residence  at  the 
Prince's  palace,  that  one  which  Valoroso  occupied  when  Angel- 
ica was  born,  and  before  he  usurped  the  throne. 

So  the  marriage-party  drove  up  to  the  palace  :  the  digni- 
taries got  out  of  their  carriages  and  stood  aside  :  poor  Rosalba 
stepped  outof  lier  coach,  supported  by  Bulbo,  and  stood  ahnost 
fainting  up  against  the  railings,  so  as  to  have  a  last  look  of  her 
dear  (/igUo.  As  for  Blackstick,  she,  according  to  her  custom, 
had  fiown  out  of  the  coach  window  in  some  inscrutable  manner, 
and  was  now  standing  at  the  palace-door. 

Ciigiio  came  up  the  steps  with  his  liorrible  bride  on  his  arm, 
looking  as  pale  as  if  he  was  going  to  execution.  He  only 
frowned  at  tue  Fairy  lilackstick  —  he  was  angry  with  her,  and 
thought  she  came  to  insult  his  misery. 

Gat  out  of  the  wny,  i)rMy,"  says  (  Jruffanuff,  haughtily.     "  I 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


245 


wonder  why  you  are  alwaj^s  poking  your  nose  into  other  people's 
affairs?'' 

''Are  3^ou  determined  to  make  this  poor  young  man  un- 
happy?" says  Blackstick. 

''  To  marry  him,  yes  !  What  business  is  it  of  3'ours?  Pra}^, 
madam,  don't  say  '  you '  to  a  queen,"  cries  Gruffanuff. 

' "  You  won't  take  the  money  he  offered  3'ou  ?  " 

^'No." 

"You  won't  let  him  off  his  bargain,  though  you  know  you 
cheated  him  when  you  made  him  sign  the  paper." 

*'  Impudence  !  Policemen,  remove  this  woman !  "  cries 
Gruffanuff.  And  the  policemen  were  rushing  forward,  but  with 
a  wave  of  her  wand  the^  Fairy  struck  them  all  like  so  man\' 
statues  in  their  places. 

You  won't  take  anything  in  exchange  for  j^our  bond,  Mrs. 
Gruffanuff,"  cries  the  Fair}^,  with  awful  severity.  I  speak  for 
the  last  time." 

"  No  !  "  shrieks  Gruffanuff,  stamping  with  her  foot.  I'll 
have  my  husband,  my  husband,  my  husband  !  " 

''You  Shall  have  your  Husband!"  the  Fairy  Blackstick 
cried ;  and  advancing  a  step,  laid  her  hand  upon  the  nose  of 
the  Knocker. 

As  she  touched  it,  the  brass  nose  seemed  to  elongate,  the 
open  mouth  opened  still  wider,  and  uttered  a  roar  which  made 
ever3'body  start.  The  eyes  rolled  wildly ;  the  arms  and  legs 
uncurled  themselves,  writhed  about,  and  seemed  to  lengthen 
with  each  twist ;  the  knocker  expanded  into  a  figure  in  j^ellow 
liver}^  six  feet  high  ;  the  screws  by  which  it  was  fixed  to  the 
door  unloosed  themselves,  and  Jenkins  Gruffanuff  once  more 
trod  the  threshold  off  which  he  had  been  lifted  more  than  twenty 
years  ago ! 

"  Master's  not  at  home,"  says  Jenkins,  just  in  his  old  voice  ; 
and  Mrs.  Jenkins,  giving  a  dreadful  youp,  fell  down  in  a  fit,  in 
which  nobody  minded  her. 

For  everybody  was  shouting,  "  Huzzay  !  huzzay  !  "  "  Hip, 
hip,  hurray!"  ''Long  Hve  the  King  and  Queen!"  ''Were 
such  things  ever  seen?"  "  No,  never,  never,  never  !  "  "  The 
Fairy  Bhiekstick  for  ever  !  " 

The  bells  were  ringing  double  peals,  the  guns  roaring  and 
banging  most  prodigiously.  Bulbo  was  embmcing  everybody  ; 
the  Lord  Chancellor  was  flinging  up  his  wig  and  shouting  like 
a  madman  ;  Hedzoff  had  got  the  Archbishop  round  the  waist, 
and  they  were  dancing  a  jig  for  joy  ;  and  as  for  Giglio,  I  leave 


246 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


to  imagine  what  he  was  doing,  and  if  he  kissed  Rosalba 
once,  twice  — twenty  thousand  times,  I'm  sure  I  don't  think  he 
was  wrong. 

So  Gruffanuff  opened  the  hall-door  with  a  low  bow,  just  as 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  do,  and  they  all  went  in  and  signed 
the  book,  and  then  they  went  to  church  and  were  married,  and 
the  Fairy  Blackstick  sailed  away  on  her  cane,  and  was  never 
more  heard  of  in  Paflagonia. 


BALLADS. 


BALLADS. 


THE     CHRONICLE     OF  THE 
DRUM. 

PART  I. 

At  Paris,  hard  by  the  Maine  barriers, 

Whoever  will  choose  to  repair, 
Midst  a  dozen  of  wooden -legged  war- 
riors 

May  haply  fall  in  with  old  Pierre. 
On  the  sunshiny  bench  of  a  tavern 

He  sits  and  he  prates  of  old  wars, 
And  moistens  his  pipe  of  tobacco 

With  a  drink  that  is  named  after 
Mars. 

The  beer  makes  his  tongue  run  the 
quicker, 

And  as  long  as  his  tap  never  fails, 
Thus  over  his  favorite  liquor 

Old  Peter  will  tell  his  old  tales. 
Says  he,  "In  my  life's  ninety  sum- 
mers 

Strange  changes  and  chances  I've 
seen,  — 

So  here's  to  all  gentlemen  drummers 
That  ever  have  thump'd  on  a  skin. 

"  Brought  up  in  the  art  military 

For  four  generations  we  are ; 
My   ancestors    drumm'd    for  .King 
Harry, 

The  Huguenot  lad  of  Navarre. 
And  as  each  man  in  life  has  his  station 

According  as  Fortune  may  fix, 
While  Conde  was  waving  the  baton. 

My  grandsire  was  trolling  the  sticks. 


"  Ah  !  those  were  the  days  for  com- 
manders ! 

What  glories  my  grandfather  won. 
Ere  bigots,  and  lackeys,  and  panders 

The  fortunes  of  France  had  undone  ! 
In  Germany,  Flanders,  and  Holland,  — 

What  foeman  resisted  us  then  ? 
No  ;  my  grandsire  was  ever  victorious. 

My  grandsire  and  Monsieur  Tu- 
renne. 

"  He  died  :  and  our  noble  battalions 

The  jade  fickle  Fortune  forsook  ; 
And  at  Blenheim,  in  spite  of  our  val- 
iance, 

The  victory  lay  with  Malbrook. 
The  news  it  was  brought  to  King 
Louis  ; 

Cor  bleu  !  how  his  Majesty  swore 
When  he  heard  they  had  taken  my 
grandsire  : 
And  twelve  thousand  gentlemen 
more. 

"At  Namur,  Ramillies,  and  Malpla- 
quet 

AVere  we  posted,  on  plain  or  in 
trench  : 

Malbrook  only  need  to  attack  it 
And  away  from  him  scamper'd  we 
French. 

Cheer  up  !  'tis  no  use  to  be  glum, 
boys,  — 

'Tis  written,  since  fighting  begun, 
That  sometimes  we  fight  and  we  com 
quer, 

And  sometimes  we  fight  and  we  run. 


250 


BALLADS. 


To  fight  and  to  run  was  our  fate  : 

Our  fortune  and  fame  had  departed. 
And  so  perish' d  Louis  the  Great,  — 

Old,  lonely,  and  half  broken-hearted. 
His  coffin  they  pelted  with  mud, 

His  body  they  tried  to  lay  hands  on  ; 
And  so  having  buried  King  Louis 

They  loyally  served  his  great-grand- 
son. 

"  God  save  the  beloved  King  Louis  ! 

(For  so  he  was  nicknamed  by  some,) 
And  now  came  my  father  to  do  his 

King's  orders  and  beat  on  the  drum. 
My  grandsire  was  dead,  but  his  bones 

Must  have  shaken  I'm  certain  for 

To  hear  daddy  drumming  the  English 
From  the  meadows  of  famed  Fon- 
tenoy. 

"  So  well  did  he  drum  in  that  battle 
That  the  enemy  show'd  us  their 
backs  ; 

Corbleu  !  it  was  pleasant  to  rattle 
The  sticks  and  to  follow  old  Saxe  ! 

We  next  had  Soubise  as  a  leader, 
And  as  luck  hath  its  changes  and 
fits, 

At  Kossbach,  in  spite  of  dad's  drum- 
ming, 

'Tis  said  we  were  beaten  by  Fritz. 

"  And  now  daddy  cross'd  the  Atlantic, 

To  drum  for  Montcalm  and  his  men  ; 
Morbleu  !  but  it  makes  a  man  frantic 

To  think  we  were  beaten  again  ! 
My  daddy  he  cross'd  the  wide  ocean, 

My  mother  brought  me  on  her  neck, 
And  we  came  in  the  year  fifty-seven 

To  guard  the  good  town  of  Quebec. 

In  tlie  year   fifty-nine  came  the 

Jiritoijs,  — 
Full  well  I  remember  the  day,  — 
They  knocked  at  our  gates  for  admit- 
tance, 

Their  vessels  were  moored  in  our 
bay. 

Says  our  general,  *  Diive  me  yon  red- 
coats 

Away  to  the  sea  whence  tliey  come  ! ' 


So  we  marched  against  Wolfe  and  his 
bull-dogs. 
We  marched  at  the  sound  of  the 
drum. 

* '  I  think  I  can  see  my  poor  mammy 
With  me  in  her, hand  as  she  waits, 

And  our  regiment,  slowly  retreating, 
Pours  back  through  the  citadel 
gates. 

Dear  mammy  she  looks  in  their  faces, 
And  asks  if  her  husband  is  come  ? 

—  He  is  lying  all  cold  on  the  glacis. 
And  will  never  more  beat  on  the 
drum. 

"  Come,  drink,  'tis  no  use  to  be  glum* 
boys, 

He  died  like  a  soldier  in  glory ; 
Here's  a  glass  to  the  health  of  all  drum- 
boys. 

And  now  I'll  commence  my  own 
story. 

Once  more  did  we  cross  the  salt  ocean, 

We  came  in  the  year  eighty-one  ; 
And  the  wrongs  of  my  father  the 
drummer 
Were  avenged  by  the  drummer  his 
son. 

"  In  Chesapeake  Bay  we  were  landed. 

In  vain  strove  the  British  to  pass  : 
Rochambeau  our  armies  commanded, 

Our  ships  they  were  led   by  De 
Grasse. 

Morbleu  !  how  I  rattled  the  drumsticks 
The  day  we  march'd  into  York  town  ; 

Ten  thousand  of  beef-eating  British 
Their  weapons  we  caused  to  lay 
down. 

"Then  homewards  returning  victo- 
rious, 

In  peace  to  our  country  we  came, 
And  were  thanked  for  our  glorious 
actions 

By  Louis  Sixteenth  of  the  name. 
What  drununer  on  earth  could  be 
prouihn- 

Than  I,  while  I  drumm'd  at  Ver- 
sailles 

To  the  lovely  court  ladies  in  powder, 
And  lappets,  and  long  satin-tails  ? 


BALLADS. 


251 


'*The  Princes  that  daypass'd  before  us, 
Our  countrymen's  glory  and  hope  ; 

Monsieur,  who  was  learned  in  Horace, 
D' Artois,  who  could  dance  the  tight- 
rope. 

One  night  we  kept  guard  for  the  Queen 

At  her  Majesty's  opera-box, 
While  the  King,  that  majestical  mon- 
arch. 

Sat  filing  at  home  at  his  locks. 

**Yes,  I  drumm'd  for  the  fair  An- 
toinette, 

And  so  smiling  she  look'd  and  so 
tender. 

That  our  officers,  privates,  and  drum- 
mers, 

All  vow'd  they  would  die  to  defend 
her. 

But  she  cared  not  for  us  honest  fel- 
lows, 

Who  fought  and  who  bled  in  her 
wars. 

She  sneer' d  at  our  gallant  Kocham- 
beau. 

And  turned  Lafayette  out  of  doors. 

"  Yentrebleu !  then  I  swore  a  great 
oath. 

No  more  to  such  tyrants  to  kneel. 
And  so  just  to  keep  up  my  drumming. 
One  day  I  drumm'd  down  the  Bas- 
tille. 

Ho,  landlord  !  a  stoup  of  fresh  wine. 

Come,  comrades,  a  bumper  we'll  try. 
And  drink  to  the  year  eighty-nine 

And  the  glorious  fourth  of  July  ! 

"Then  bravely  our  cannon  it  thun- 
der'd 

As  onwards  our  patriots  bore. 
Our  enemies  were  but  a  hundred. 

And  we  twenty  thousand  or  more. 
They  carried  the  news  to  King  Louis. 

He  heard  it  as  calm  as  you  please, 
And,  like  a  majestical  monarch. 

Kept  filing  his  locks  and  his  keys. 

**  We  show'd  our  republican  courage. 
We  storm'd  and  we  broke  the  great 
gate  in, 

And  we  murder'd  the  insolent  governor 
For  daring  to  keep  us  a-waiting. 


Lambesc  and  his  squadrons  stood  by  : 
They  never  stirr'd  finger  or  thumb. 

The  saucy  aristocrats  trembled 

As  they  heard  the  republican  drum. 

Hurrah  !  what  a  storm  was  a-brew- 
ing  : 

The  day  of  our  vengeance  was  come  ! 
Through  scenes  of  what  carnage  and 
ruin 

Did  I  beat  on  the  patriot  drum  ! 
Let's  drink  to  the  famed  tenth  of 
August  : 

At  midnight  I  beat  the  tattoo, 
And  woke  up  the  Pikemen  of  Paris 

To  follow  the  bold  Barbaroux. 

"With  pikes,  and  with  shouts,  and 
with  torches 
March'd  onwards  our  dusty  bat- 
talions. 

And  we  girt  the  tall  castle  of  Louis, 

A  million  of  tatterdemalions  ! 
We  storm'd  the  fair  gardens  where 
tower'd 

The  walls  of  his  heritage  splendid. 
Ah,  shame  on  him,  craven  and  cow- 
ard. 

That  had  not  the  heart  to  defend  it  ! 

"With  the  crown  of  his  sires  on  his 
head. 

His  nobles  and  knights  by  his  side. 
At  the  foot  of  his  ancestors'  palace 

'Twere  easy,  methinks,  to  have  died. 
But  no  :  when  we  burst  through  his 
barriers, 

Mid  heaps  of  the  dying  and  dead. 
In  vain  through  the  chambers  we 
sought  him  — 
He  had  turn'd  like  a  craven  and  fled. 


"  You  all  know  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde ? 

'Tis  hard  by  the  Tuilerie  wall. 
Mid  terraces,  fountains,  and  statues. 

There  rises  an  obelisk  tall. 
There  rises  an  obelisk  tall, 

All  garnish'd  and  gilded  the  base  is  : 
'Tis  surely  the  gayest  of  all 

Our  beautiful  city's  gay  places. 


252 


BALLADS. 


Around  it  are  gardens  and  flowers, 
And  the  Cities  of  France  on  their 
thrones, 

Each   crown'd  with  his  circlet  of 
flowers 

Sits  watching  this  biggest  of  stones  ! 
I  love  to  go  sit  in  the  sun  there, 

The  flowers  and  fountains  to  see, 
And  to  think  of  the  deeds  that  were 
done  there 

In  the  glorious  year  ninety-three. 

'Twas  here  stood  the  Altar  of  Free- 
dom ; 

And  though  neither  marble  nor 
gilding 

Was  used  in  those  days  to  adorn 
Our  simple  republican  building, 

Corbleu  !  but  the  mere  guillotine 
Cared  little  for  splendor  or  show, 

So  you  gave  her  an  axe  and  a  beam, 
And  a  plank  and  a  basket  or  so. 

"Awful,  and  proud,  and  erect, 

Here  sat  our  republican  goddess. 
Each  morning  her  table  we  deck'd 

With  dainty  aristocrats'  bodies. 
The  people  each  day  flocked  around 

As  she  sat  at  her  meat  aud  her  wine : 
'Twas  always  the  use  of  our  nation 

To  witness  the  sovereign  dine. 

"Young  virgins   with   fair  golden 
tresses, 

Old  silver-hair'd  prelates  and  priests, 
Dukes,  mar([uis('s,  barons,  princesses, 

Wei'e  splendidly  served  at  her  feasts. 
Ventrebleu  !  but  we  pamper'd  our 
ogr(\ss 

With  the  best  that  our  nation  could 
bi'ing. 

And  dainty  she  grew  in  her  [)rogress, 
And  called  for  the  head  of  a  King  ! 

"She  called  for  the  blood  of  our  King, 

And  straiglit  from  his  prison  we 
drew  him  ; 
And  to  her  with  shouting  we  led  him, 

And  took  liim,  and  bound  him,  .and 
slew  him. 
*  The  inonarchs  of  Europe  against  me 

Have  plotted  a  godless  alliance  : 
I'll  fling  them  the  liead  of  King  Louis,' 

She  said,  '  as  my  gage  of  deflance.' 


"I  see  him  as  now,  for  a  moment, 
Away  from  his  jailers  he  broke  ; 

And  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold, 
And  lingered,  and  fain  would  have 
spoke. 

*  Ho,  drummer !   quick  !  silence  yon 
Capet,' 

Says  Santerre,  '  with  a  beat  of  your 
drum.' 
Lustily  then  did  I  tap  it, 
And  the  son  of  Saint  Louis  was 
dumb. 


PART  II. 

"  The  glorious  days  of  September 

Saw  many  aristocrats  fall  ; 
'Twas  then  that  our  pikes  drunk  the 
blood 

In  the  beautiful  breast  of  Lamballe. 
Pardi,  'twas  a  beautiful  lady  I 

I  seldom  have  looked  on  her  like  ; 
And  I  drumm'd  for  a  gallant  pro- 
cession, 

That  marched  with  her  head  on  a 
pike. 

"Let's  show  the  pale  head  to  the 
Queen, 

We  said  —  she'll  remember  it  well. 
She  looked  from  the  bars  of  her  prison. 

And  shriek'd  as  she  saw  it,  and  fell. 
We  set  up  a  shout  at  her  screaming, 

We  laugh'd  at  the  fright  she  had 
shown 

At  the  sight  of  the  head  of  her  minion  ; 
How  she'd  tremble  to  part  with  her 
own. 

"We  had  taken  the  head  of  King 
Capet, 

We  called  for  the  blood  of  his  wife  ; 
Undaunted  she  came  to  the  scaffold, 

And  bared  her  fair  neck  to  the  knife. 
As  she  felt  the  foul  fingers  that  touch'd 
her, 

She  shrunk,  but  she  deigned  not  to 
speak  : 

She  look'd  with  a  royal  disdain, 
And  tlied  with  a  blush  on  her 
cheek  ! 


BALLADS. 


253 


"  'Twas  thus  that  our  country  was 
saved  ; 

So  told  us  the  safety  committee  ! 
But  psha  !  I've  the  heart  of  a  soldier, 

All  gentleness,  mercy,  and  pity. 
1  loathed  to  assist  at  such  deeds. 

And  my  drum  beat  its  loudest  of 
tunes 

As  we  offered  to  justice  offended 
The  blood  of  the  bloody  tribunes. 

"  Away  with  such  foul  recollections  ! 

No  more  of  the  axe  and  the  block  ; 
I  saw  the  last  fight  of  the  sections. 

As  they  fell  'neath  our  guns  at  Saint 
Rock. 

Young  Bonaparte  led  us  that  day  ; 
When  he  sought  the  Italian  fron- 
tier, 

I  follow' d  my  gallant  young  captain, 
I  follow' d  him  many  a  long  year. 

"  We  came  to  an  army  in  rags, 

Our  general  was  but  a  boy 
When  we  first  saw  the  Austrian  flags 

Flaunt  proud  in  the  fields  of  Savoy. 
In  the  glorious  year  ninety-six. 

We  march' d  to  the  banks  of  the  Po  ; 
I  carried  my  drum  and  m}^  sticks, 

And  we  laid  the  proud  Austrian 
low. 

**  In  triumph  we  enter'd  Milan, 

We  seized  on  the  Mantuan  keys  ; 
The  troops  of  the  Emperor  ran. 

And  the  Pope  he  fell  down  on  his 
knees."  — 
Pierre's  comrades  here  call'd  a  fresh 
bottle, 

And  clu)-)bing  together  their  wealth. 
They  drank  to  the  Army  of  Italy, 
And  General  Bonaparte's  health. 

The  drummer  now  bared  his  old 
breast. 

And  show'd  us  a  plenty  of  scars. 
Rude  presents  that  Fortune  had  made 
him. 

In  fifty  victorious  wars. 

This  came  when  I  follow'd  bold 

Kleber  — 
'Twas  shot  by  a  Mameluke  gun  ; 
And  this  from  an  Austrian  sabre. 
When  the  field  of  Marengo  was  won. 


My  forehead  has  many  deep  furrows, 

But  this  is  the  deepest  of  all  : 
A  Brunswicker  made  it  at  Jena, 

Beside  the  fair  river  of  Saal. 
This  cross,  'twas  the  Emperor  gave  it ; 

(God  bless  him  !)  it  covers  a  blow  ; 
I  had  it  at  Austerlitz  fight. 

As  I  beat  on  my  drum  in  the  snow. 

"  'Twas  thus  that  we  conquer'd  and 
fought  ; 

But  wherefore  continue  the  story  ? 
There's  never  a  baby  in  France 

But  has  heard  of  our  chief  and  our 
glory,  — 

But  has  heard  of  our  chief  and  our 
fame, 

His  sorrows  and  triumphs  can  tell. 
How  bravely  Napoleon  conquer'd, 
How  bravely  and  sadly  he  fell. 

**It  makes  my  old  heart  to  beat 
higher, 

To  think  of  the  deeds  that  I  saw  ; 
I  follow'd  bold  Ney  through  the  fire, 

And  charged  at  the  side  of  Murat." 
And  so  did  old  Peter  continue 

His  story  of  twenty  brave  years  ; 
His    audience   follow'd    with  com- 
ments — 

Rude  comments  of  curses  and  tears. 

He  told  how  the  Prussians  in  vain 
Had  died  in  defence  of  their  land  ; 

His  audience  laugh'd  at  the  story, 
And  vovv'd  that  their  captain  was 
grand  ! 

He  had  fought  the  red  English,  he 
said, 

In  many  a  battle  of  Spain  ; 
They  cursed  the  red  English,  and 
prayed 

To  meet  them  and  fight  them  again. 

He  told  them  how  Russia  was  lost, 

Had  winter  not  driven  them  back  ; 
And  his  company  cursed  the  quick 
frost, 

And  doubly  they  cursed  the  Cossack. 
He  told  how  the  stranger  arrived  ; 

They  wept  at  the  tale  of  disgrace  : 
And  they  long'd  but  for  one  battle 
more. 

The  stain  of  their  shame  to  efface  ! 


254 


BALLADS. 


' '  Our  country  their  hordes  overrun, 

We  fled  to  the  fields  of  Champagne, 
And  fought  them,  though  twenty  to 
one. 

And  beat  them  again  and  again  ! 
Our  warrior  w^as  conquer'd  at  last ; 
They  bade  him  his  crown  to  re- 
sign ; 

To  fate  and  his  country  he  yielded 
The  rights  of  himself  and  his  line. 

"He  came,  and  among  us  he  stood. 
Around  him  we  press'd  in  a  throng  : 

We  could  not  regard  him  for  weeping, 
Who  had  led  us  and  loved  us  so 
long 

*  I  have  led  you  for  twenty  long  years,' 

Napoleon  said,  ere  he  went  ; 
^    '  Wherever  was  honor  I  found  you, 
And  with  you,  my  sons,  am  con- 
tent ! 

"*  Though  Europe  against  me  was 
arm'd, 

Your  chiefs  and  my  people  are  true; 
I  still  might  have  struggled  with  for- 
tune. 

And  baffled  all  Europe  with  you. 

"  '  But  France  would  have  suff*er'd  the 
while, 

'Tis  best  that  I  suff'er  alone  ; 
I  go  to  my  place  of  exile, 
To  write  of  the  deeds  we  have  done. 

*  Be  true  to  the  king  that  they  give 
you. 

We  may  not  embrace  ere  we  part ; 
But,  General,  reach  me  your  hand. 
And  press  me,  I  pray,  to  your  heart. ' 

**  He  called  for  our  battle  standard  ; 
One  kiss  to  the  eagle  he  gave. 

*  Dear  eagle  ! '  he  said,  *  may  this  kiss 

Long  sound  in  the  hearts  of  the 
brave  !  * 

'Twas  thus  that  Napoleon  left  us  ; 

Our  pf'ople  were  weeping  and  mute, 
As  he  pass'd  through  the  lines  of  his 
guard, 

And  our  drums  beat  the  notes  of 
salute. 


"  I  look'd  when  the  drumming  was 
o'er, 

I  look'd,  but  our  hero  was  gone  ; 
We  were  destined  to  see  him  once 
more, 

When  we  fought  on  the  Mount  of 
St.  John. 

The  Emperor  rode  through  our  files  ; 

'Twas  June,  and  a  fair  Sunday  morn ; 
The  lines  of  our  warriors  for  miles 

Stretch' d  wide  through  the  Waterloo 
corn. 

"  In  thousands  we  stood  on  the  plain, 
The  red-coats  were  crowning  the 
height  ; 

*  Go  scatter  yon  English,'  he  said  ; 
*  We'll  sup,  lads,  at  Brussels  to- 
night.' 

We  answered  his  voice  with  a  shout  ; 

Our  eagles  were  bright  in  the  sun  ; 
Our  drums  and  our  cannon  spoke  out, 

And  the  thundering  battle  begun. 

"  One  charge  to  another  succeeds. 
Like  waves  that  a  hurricane  bears  ; 

All  day  do  our  galloping  steeds 
Dash  fierce  on  the  enemy's  squares. 

At  noon  we  began  the  fell  onset  : 
We  charged  up  the  Englishman's 
hill; 

And  madly  we  charged  it  at  sunset  — 
His  banners  were  floating  there  still. 

"  —  Go  to  !  I  will  tell  you  no  more ; 

You  know  how  the  battle  was  lost. 
Ho  !  fetch  me  a  beaker  of  wine. 

And,  comrades,  I'll  give  you  a  toast. 
I'll  give  you  a  curse  on  all  traitors. 

Who  ])lotted  our  Emperor's  ruin ; 
And  a  curse  on  those  red-coated  Eng- 
lish, 

Whose  bayonets  help'd  our  undoing. 

"  A  curse  ©n  those  British  assassins, 
Who  orchard  the  slaughter  of  Ney  ; 

A  curse  on  Sir  Hudson,  who  tortured 
The  life  of  our  hero  away. 

A  curse  on  all   Russians  —  I  hate 
them  — 

On  all  I^russian  and  Austrian  fry  ; 
And  oh  !  l)ut  I  pray  we  may  meet  them, 
And  fight  them  again  ere  I  die." 


BALLADS. 


255 


'Twas  thus  old  Peter  did  conclude 
His  chronicle  with  curses  fit. 

He  spoke  the  tale  in  accents  rude, 
In  ruder  verse  I  copied  it. 

Perhaps  the  tale  a  moral  bears, 
(All  tales  in  time  to  this  must  come,) 

The  story  of  two  hundred  years 
Writ  on  the  parchment  of  a  drum. 

What  Peter  told  with  drum  and  stick, 
Is  endless  th^me  for  poet's  pen  : 

Is  found  in  endless  quartos  thick. 
Enormous  books  by  learned  men. 

And  ever  since  historian  writ. 
And  ever  since  a  bard  could  sing, 

Doth  each  exalt  with  all  his  wit 
The  noble  art  of  murdering. 

We  love  to  read  the  glorious  page. 
How  bold  Achilles  kill'd  his  foe  : 

And  Turnus,  fell'd  by  Trojans'  rage, 
Went  howling  to  the  shades  below. 

How  Godfrey  led  his  red-cross  knights, 
How  mad  Orlando  slash'd  and  slew  ; 

There's  not  a  single  bard  that  writes 
But  doth  the  glorious  theme  renew. 

And  while,  in  fashion  picturesque, 
The  poet  rhymes  of  blood  and  blows, 

The  grave  historian  at  his  desk 

Describes  the  same  in  classic  prose. 

Go  read  the  works  of  Reverend  Cox, 
You'll  duly  see  recorded  there 

The  history  of  the  self-same  knocks 
Here  roughly  sung  by  Drummer 
Pierre. 

Of  battles  fierce  and  warriors  big, 
He  writes  in  phrases  dull  and  slow. 

And  waves  his  cauliflower  wig. 

And  shouts  ' '  Saint  George  for  Marl- 
boro w  ! " 

Take  Doctor  Southey  from  the  shelf. 

An  LL.D.,  —  a  peaceful  man  ; 
Good  Lord,  how  doth  he  plume  him- 
self 

Because  we  beat  the  Corsican  ! 


From  first  to  last  his  page  is  filled 
With  stirring  tales  how  blows  were 
struck. 

He  shows  how  we  the  Frenchmen 
kill'd. 

And  praises  God  for  our  good  luck. 

Some  hints,  'tis  true,  of  politics 
The  doctors  give  and  statesman's  art: 

Pierre  only  bangs  his  drum  and  sticks, 
And  understands  the  bloody  part. 

He  cares  not  what  the  cause  may  be. 
He  is  not  nice  for  wrong  and  right ; 

But  show  him  where's  the  enemy, 
He  only  asks  to  drum  and  light. 

They  bid  him  fight,  — perhaps  he  wins. 

And  when  he  tells  the  story  o'er. 
The  honest  savage  brags  and  grins. 

And  only  longs  to  fight  once  more. 

But  luck  may  change,  and  valor  fail, 
Our  drummer,  Peter,  meet  reverse, 

And  with  a  moral  points  his  tale  — 
The  end  of  all  such  tales  —  a  curse. 

Last  year,  my  love,  it  was  my  hap 

Behind  a  grenadier  to  be. 
And,  but  he  wore  a  hairy  cap. 

No  taller  man,  methinks,  than  me. 

Prince  Albert  and  the  Queen,  God  wot, 
(Be  blessings  on  the  glorious  pair  !) 

Before  us  passed,  I  saw  them  not, 
I  only  saw  a  cap  of  hair. 

Your  orthodox  historian  puts 

In  foremost  rank  the  soldier  thus. 

The  red-coat  bully  in  his  boots. 

That  hides  the  march  of  men  from 
us. 

He  puts  him  there  in  foremost  rank. 
You  wonder  at  his  cap  of  hair  : 

You  hear  his  sabre's  cursed  clank. 
His  spurs  are  jingling  everywhere. 

Go  to  !  I  hate  him  and  his  trade  : 
AVho  bade  us  so  to  cringe  and  bend, 

And  all  God's  peaceful  people  made 
To  such  as  him  subservient  ? 


256 


BALLADS. 


Tell  me  what  find  we  to  admire 
In  epaulets  and  scarlet  coats. 

In  men,  because  they  load  and  fire, 
And  know  the  art  of  cutting  throats  ? 


Ah,  gentle,  tender  lady  mine  ! 

The  winter  wind  blows  cold  and 
shrill. 

Come,  fill  me  one  more  glass  of  wine, 
And  give  the  silly  fools  their  will. 

And  what  care  we  for  war  and  wrack, 
How  kings  and  heroes  rise  and  fall  ; 

Look  yonder,*  in  his  coftin  black. 
There  lies  the  greatest  of  them  all  ! 

To  pluck  him  down,  and  keep  him  up. 
Died  many  million  human  souls  ; 

'Tis  twelve  o'clock,  and  time  to  sup. 
Bid  Mary  heap  the  fire  with  coals. 

He  captured  many  thousand  guns  ; 
He  wrote  "  The  Great"  before  his 
name  ; 

And  dying,  only  left  his  sons 
The  recollection  of  his  shame. 

Thougli  more  than  half  the  world  was 
his. 

He  died  without  a  rood  his  own  ; 
And  borrowed  from  his  enemies 
Six  foot  of  ground  to  lie  upon. 

He  fought  a  thousand  glorious  wars. 
And  more  than  half  the  world  was 
his, 

And  somewhere  now,  in  yonder  stars. 
Can  t(dl,  mayhap,  what  greatness  is. 
1841. 


ABD-EL-KAT)Ell  AT  TOULON. 

OR,  TIIK  CAdKI)  HAWK. 

No  more,  thou  litlio  and  long- winged 
liawk,  of  desert-lif(i  for  thee  ; 

No  more  across  tlie  sultry  sands  slialt 
tliou  go  swu()))ing  fice  : 

*  This  hallnd  was  written  at  pjiris  jit  tho 
time  of  the  Second  Funeral  of  Napoleon. 


Blunt  idle  talons,  idle  beak,  with 

spurning  of  thy  chain, 
Shatter  against  thy  cage  the  wing  thou 

ne'er  may'st  spread  again. 

Long,  sitting  by  their  watchfires,  shall 

the  Kabyles  tell  the  tale 
Of  thy  dash  from  Ben  Halifa  on  the 

fat  Metidja  vale  ; 
How  thou  swept'st  the  desert  over, 

bearing  down  the  wild  El  Riif, 
From  eastern  Beni  Saiah  to  western 

Ouad  Shelif ; 

How  thy  white  burnous  went  stream- 
ing, like  the  storm-rack  o'er  the 
sea. 

When  thou  rodest  in  the  vanward  of 
the  Moorish  chivalry  ; 

How  thy  razzia  was  a  whirlwind,  thy 
onset  a  simoom. 

How  thy  sword-sweep  was  the  light- 
ning, dealing  death  from  out  the 
gloom  ! 

Nor  less  quick  to  slay  in  battle  than 

in  peace  to  spare  and  save. 
Of  brave  men  wisest  councillor,  of 

wise  councillors  most  brave  ; 
How  the  eye  that  flashed  destruction 

could  beam  gentleness  and  love, 
How  lion  in  thee  mated  lamb,  how 

eagle  mated  dove  ! 

Availed  not  or  steel  or  shot  'gainst 

that  charmed  life  secure. 
Till  cunning  France,  in  last  resource, 

tossed  up  the  golden  lure  ; 
And  the  carrion  buzzards  round  him 

stooped,  faithless,  to  the  cast. 
And  the  wild  hawk  of  the  desei't  is 

caught  and  caged  at  last. 

Weep,  maidens  of  Zerifah,  above  the 

laden  loom  ! 
Scar,  cliieftains  of  Al  Flmah,  your 

cheeks  in  gri(^f  and  gloom  ! 
Sons  of  the  Ik;ni  Snazam,  throw  down 

the  us(!l(;ss  lance. 
And  stoop  your  n(M!ks  and  bare  your 

ba(;ks   to  yoke  and  scourge  of 

France  ! 


BALLADS. 


257 


'Twas  not  in  fight  they  bore  him  down; 

he  never  cried  aman  ; 
He  never  sank  his  sword  before  the 

Prince  of  Franghistan  ; 
But  with  traitors  all  around  hira,  his 

star  upon  the  wane, 
He  heard  the  voice  of  Allah,  and  he 

would  not  strive  in  vain. 

They  gave  him  what  he  asked  them  ; 
from  king  to  king  he  spake, 

As  one  that  plighted  word  and  seal 
not  knoweth  how  to  break  ; 

* '  Let  me  pass  from  out  my  deserts, 
be't  mine  own  choice  where  to  go, 

I  brook  no  fettered  life  to  live,  a  cap- 
tive and  a  show." 

And  they  promised,  and  he  trusted 
them,  and  proud  and  calm  he 
came. 

Upon  his  black  mare  riding,  girt  with 

his  sword  of  fame. 
Good  steed,  good  sword,  he  rendered 

both  unto  the  P'rankish  throng  ; 
He  knew  them  false  and  fickle  —  but 

a  Prince's  word  is  strong. 

How  have  they  kept  their  promise  ? 

Turned  they  the  vessel's  prow 
Unto  Acre,  Alexandria,  as  they  have 

sworn  e'en  now  ? 
Not  so  :  from  Oran  northwards  the 

white  sails  gleam  and  glance, 
And  the  wild  hawk  of  the  desert  is 

borne  away  to  France  ! 

Where  Toulon's  white-walled  lazaret 

looks  southward  o'er  the  wave, 
Sits  he  that  trusted  in  the  word  a  son 

of  Louis  gave. 
0  noble  faith  of  noble  heart  !  And 

was  the  warning  vain, 
The  text  writ  by  the  Bourbon  in  the 

blurred  black  book  of  Spain  ? 

They  have  need  of  thee  to  gaze  on, 

they  have  need  of  thee  to  grace 
The  triumph  of  the  Prince,  to  gild 

the  pinchbeck  of  their  race. 
Words  are  but  wind,  conditions  must 

be  construed  by  Guizot  ; 
Dash  out  thy  heart,  thou  desert  hawk, 

ere  thou  art  made  a  show  ! 

1' 


THE  KING   OF  BRENTFORD'S 
TESTAMENT. 

The  noble  King  of  Brentford 

Was  old  and  very  sick, 
He  summon'd  his  physicians 

To  wait  upon  him  quick  ; 
They  stepp'd  into  their  coaches 

And  brought  their  best  physick. 

They  cramm'd  their  gracious  master 

With  potion  and  with  pill  ; 
They  drench'd  him  and  they  bled  him  : 

They  could  not  cure  his  ill. 

Go  fetch,"  says  he,  "  my  lawyer, 

I'd  better  make  my  will." 

The  monarch's  royal  mandate 

The  lawyer  did  obey  ; 
The  thought  of  six-and-eightpence 

Did  make  his  heart  full  gay. 
"  What  is't,"  says  he,  "  your  Majesty 

Would  wish  of  me  to-day  ?  " 

"  The  doctors  have  belabor'd  me 

With  potion  and  with  pill  : 
My  hours  of  life  are  counted, 

0  man  of  tape  and  quill  ! 

Sit  down  and  mend  a  pen  or  two, 

1  want  to  make  my  will. 

"  O'er  all  the  land  of  Brentford 
I'm  lord,  and  eke  of  Kew  : 

I've  three-per-cents  and  five-per-cents; 
My  debts  are  but  a  few  ; 

And  to  inherit  after  me 
I  have  but  children  two. 

Prince  Thomas  is  my  eldest  son, 

A  sober  Prince  is  he. 
And  from  the  day  we  breech' d  him 

Till  now,  he's  twenty-three. 
He  never  caused  disquiet 

To  his  poor  Mamma  or  me. 

"  At  school  they  never  flogg'd  him. 
At  college,  though  not  fast, 

Yet  his  little-go  and  great-go 
He  creditably  pass'd, 

And  made  his  year's  allowance 
For  eighteen  months  to  last. 

**He  never  owed  a  shilling. 
Went  never  drunk  to  bed, 


258 


BALLADS. 


He  has  not  two  ideas 

Within  his  honest  head  — 

In  all  respects  he  differs 

From  my  second  son,  Prince  Ned. 

When  Tom  has  half  his  income 

Laid  by  at  the  year's  end, 
Poor  Ned  has  ne'er  a  stiver 

That  rightly  he  may  spend, 
Bat  sponges  on  a  tradesman. 

Or  borrows  from  a  friend. 

*  *  While  Tom  his  legal  studies 

Most  soberly  pursues, 
Poor  Ned  must  pass  his  mornings 

A-dawdling  with  the  Muse  : 
While  Tom  frequents  his  banker. 

Young  Ned  frequents  the  Jews. 

*  *  Ned  drives  about  in  buggies, 

Tom  sometimes  takes  a  'bus  ; 
Ah,  cruel  fate,  why  made  you 

My  children  differ  thus  ? 
Why  make  of  Tom  a  dullard^ 

And  Ned  a  genius  J  " 

You'll  cut  him  with  a  shilling," 

Exclaimed  the  man  of  wits  : 
*'ril  leave  my  wealth,"  said  Brentford, 

*'  Sir  Lawyer,  as  befits  ; 
And  portion  both  their  fortunes 

Unto  their  several  wits." 

*'  Your  Grace  knows  best,"  the  lawyer 
said  ; 

**0n  your  commands  I  wait." 
Be  sil(?nt,  Sir,"  says  Brentford, 
"A  plague  upon  your  prate  ! 
Come  take  your  pen  and  paper, 
And  write  as  I  dictate." 

Tlie  will  as  Brentford  spoke  it 
Was  wi  it  and  signed  and  closed  ; 

lie  bade  the  lawyer  leave  him, 

And  tiirn'd  hiiri  round  and  dozed  ; 

And  iKixt  wijek  in  the  churc^hyard 
The  good  old  King  re])osed. 

Tom,  dressed  in  crape  and  hatband, 
Of  mourners  was  the  chief; 

In  bitter  self-upbiaidings 

Poor  Ldward  sliowed  his  grief  : 

Torn  hid  his  fat  wl)it(^  (N)untenance 
In  his  i)Ockct-handkerchief. 


Ned's  eyes  were  full  of  weeping, 

He  falter'd  in  his  walk  ; 
Tom  never  shed  a  tear, 

But  onwards  he  did  stalk, 
As  pompous,  black,  and  solemn, 

As  any  catafalque. 

And  when  the  bones  of  Brentford  — 
That  gentle  king  and  just  — 

With  bell  and  book  and  candle 
Were  duly  laid  in  dust, 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  says  Thomas, 
"  Let  business  be  discussed. 

'  *  When  late  our  sire  beloved 

Was  taken  deadly  ill. 
Sir  Lawyer,  you  attended  him 

(I  mean  to  tax  your  bill)  ; 
And,  as  you  signed  and  wrote  it, 

I  prithee  read  the  will." 

The  lawyer  wiped  his  spectacles, 
And  drew  the  parchment  out ; 

And  all  the  Brentford  family 
Sat  eager  round  about  : 

Poor  Ned  was  somewhat  anxious. 
But  Tom  had  ne'er  a  doubt. 

"  My  son,  as  I  make  ready 
To  seek  my  last  long  home, 

Some  cares  I  had  for  Neddy, 
But  none  for  thee,  my  Tom  : 

Sobriety  and  order 

You  ne'er  departed  from. 

' '  Ned  hath  a  brilliant  genius, 
And  thou  a  plodding  brain  ; 

On  thee  I  think  with  pleasure. 
On  him  with  doubt  and  pain." 
You  see,  good  Ned,"  says  Thomas, 

"What  he  thought  about  us  twain.") 

"  Though  small  was  your  allowance. 

You  saved  a  little  store  ; 
And  those  who  save  a  little 

Shall  get  a  plenty  more." 
As  the  lawyer  read  this  compliment, 

Tom's  eyes  were  running  o'er. 

"The  tortoise  and  the  hare,  Tom, 

S(!t  out,  at  each  his  pace  ; 
The  hare  it  was  the  fleeter, 

The  tortoise  won  the  race  ; 


BALLADS. 


259 


And  since  the  world's  beginning 
This  ever  was  the  case. 

Ned's  genius,  blithe  and  singing, 

Steps  gayly  o'er  the  ground  ; 
As  steadily  you  trudge  it 

He  clears  it  with  a  bound  ; 
But  dulness  has  stout  legs,  Tom, 

And  wind  that's  wondrous  sound. 

"  O'er  fruits  and  flowers  alike,  Tom, 
You  pass  with  plodding  feet  ; 

You  heed  not  one  nor  t'other 
But  onwards  go  your  beat, 

While  genius  stops  to  loiter 
With  all  that  he  may  meet ; 

**  And  ever  as  he  wanders. 

Will  have  a  pretext  fine 
For  sleeping  in  the  morning, 

Or  loitering  to  dine. 
Or  dozing  in  the  shade. 

Or  basking  in  the  shine. 

Your  little  steady  eyes,  Tom, 

Though  not  so  bright  as  those 
That  restless  round  about  him 

His  flashing  genius  throws, 
Are  excellently  suited 

To  look  before  your  nose. 

"  Thank  heaven,  then,  for  the  blinkers 
It  placed  before  your  eyes  ; 

The  stupidest  are  weakest. 
The  witty  are  not  wise  ; 

Oh,  bless  your  good  stupidity. 
It  is  your  dearest  prize  ! 

**  And  though  my  lands  are  wide, 

And  plenty  is  my  gold. 
Still  better  gifts  from  Nature, 

My  Thomas,  do  you  hold  — 
A  brain  that's  thick  and  heavy, 

A  heart  that's  dull  and  cold. 

"  Too  dull  to  feel  depression, 

Too  hard  to  heed  distress. 
Too  cold  to  yield  to  passion 

Or  silly  tenderness. 
March  on  —  your  road  is  open 

To  wealth,  Tom,  and  success. 

Ned  sinneth  in  extravagance, 
And  you  in  greedy  lust." 


(**r  faith,"  says  Ned,  **our  father 

Is  less  polite  than  just.") 
**In  you,  son  Tom,  I've  confidence, 

But  Ned  I  cannot  trust. 

"Wherefore  my  lease  and  copyholds, 

My  lands  and  tenements, 
My  parks,  my  farms,  and  orchards. 

My  houses  and  my  rents. 
My  Dutch  stock  and  my  Spanish  stock, 

My  five  and  three  per  cents, 

"  I  leave  to  you,  my  Thomas  "  — 
("  What,  all  ?"  poor  Edward  said. 

' '  Well,  well,  1  should  have  spent  them, 
And  Tom's  a  prudent  head  ")  — 
I  leave  to  you,  my  Thomas,  — 
To  you  IN  TiiusT  for  Ned." 

The  wrath  and  consternation 
What  poet  e'er  could  trace 

That  at  this  fatal  passage 

Came  o'er  Prince  Tom  his  face  ; 

The  wonder  of  the  company. 
And  honest  Ned's  amaze  ! 

'Tis  surely  some  mistake," 

Good-naturedly  cries  Ned  ; 
The  lawyer  answered  gravely, 

"  'Tis  even  as  I  said  ; 
'Twas  thus  his  gracious  Majesty 

Ordain'd  on  his  death-bed. 

"See,  here  the  will  is  witness'd. 
And  here's  his  autograph." 

"  In  truth,  our  father's  writing," 
Says  Edward,  with  a  laugh  ; 

' '  But  thou  shalt  not  be  a  loser,  Tom, 
We'll  share  it  half  and  half." 

"Alas  !  my  kind  young  gentleman. 

This  sharing  cannot  be  ; 
'Tis  written  in  the  testament 

That  Brentford  spoke  to  me, 
'  I  do  forbid  Prince  Ned  to  give 

Prince  Tom  a  halfpenny. 

"  *  He  hath  a  store  of  money, 
But  ne'er  was  known  to  lend  it ; 

He  never  help'd  his  brother  ; 
The  poor  he  ne'er  befriended  ; 

He  hath  no  need  of  property 

Who  knows  not  how  to  spend  it. 


260 


BALLADS. 


**'Poor  Edward  knows  but  how  to 
spend, 

And  thrifty  Tom  to  hoard  ; 
Let  Thomas  be  the  steward  then, 

And  Edward  be  the  lord  ; 
And  as  the  honest  laborer 

Is  worthy  his  reward, 

**  *  I  pray  Prince  Ned,  my  second  son. 

And  my  successor  dear, 
To  ])ay  to  his  intendant 

Five  hundred  pounds  a  year  ; 
And  to  think  of  his  old  father. 

And  live  and  make  good  cheer.'" 

Such  was  old  Brentford's  honest  testa- 
ment, 

He  did  devise  his  moneys  for  the  best. 
And  lies  in  Brentford  church  in 

peaceful  rest. 
Prince  Edward  lived,  and  money  made 

and  spent  ; 
But  his  good  sire  was  wrong,  it  is 

confess'd 

To  say  his  son,  young  Thomas,  never 
lent. 

He  did.  Young  Thomas  lent  at  in- 
terest. 

And  nobly  took  his  twenty-five  per 
cent. 

Long  time  the  famous  reign  of  Ned 
endured 

O'er  Chiswick,  Fulham,  Brentford, 
Putney,  Kew, 
But  of  extravagance  he   ne'er  was 
cured. 

And  when  both  died,  as  mortal  men 
will  do, 

'Twas  commonly  reported   that  the 
steward 

Was  very  much  the  richer  of  the 
two. 


THE  WHITE  SQUALL. 

Ox  de(;k,  beneath  the  awning, 
I  dozing  lay  and  yawning  ; 
It  was  th(;  gray  of  dawning. 

Ere  yet  tin;  snn  arose  ; 
And  above  the  finnKil's  roaring. 
And  the  fitful  wind's  deploring, 
I  heard  tin;  cabin  snoring 


With  universal  nose. 
I  could  hear  the  passengers  snorting  — 
1  envied  their  disporting  — 
Vainly  1  was  courting 

The  pleasure  of  a  doze  ! 

So  1  lay,  and  wondered  why  light 
Came  not,  and  watched  the  twilight, 
And  the  glimmer  of  the  skylight. 

That  shot  across  the  deck  ; 
And  the  binnacle  pale  and  steady. 
And  the  dull  glimpse  of  the  dead-eye, 
And  the  sparks  in  fiery  eddy 

That  whirled  from    the  chimney 
neck. 

In  our  jovial  floating  prison 
There  was  sleep  from  fore  to  mizzen, 
And  never  a  star  had  risen 
The  hazy  sky  to  speck. 

Strange  company  we  harbored  ; 
We'd  a  hundred  Jews  to  larboard. 
Unwashed,  uncombed,  unbarbered  — 

Jews  black,  and  brown,  and  gray  ; 
With  terror  it  would  seize  ye, 
And  make  your  souls  uneasy, 
To  see  those  Rabbis  greasy, 

Who  did  naught  but  scratch  and 
pray: 

Their  dirty  children  puking  — 
Their  dirty  saucepans  cooking  — 
Their  dirty  fingers  hooking 
Their  swarming  fleas  away. 

To  starboard,  Turks  and  Greeks  were — 
Whiskered  and  brown  their  cheeks 
were  — 

Enormous  wide  their  breeks  were, 

Their  pipes  did  ])u(r  alway  ; 
Each  on  his  mat  allotted 
In  silence  smoked  and  squatted, 
Whilst  i-ound  their  children  trotted 

In  pretty,  pleasant  play, 
lb;  can't  but  smile  who  traces 
The  smiles  on  those  brown  faces, 
And  the  pretty,  prattling  graces 
Of  those  small  heathens  gay. 

And  so  the  liours  kept  tolling, 
And  through  the  ocean  rolling 
Went  the  ))rave  "  Iberia"  bowling 
Before  the  break  of  day  — 


BALLADS. 


261 


When  A  SQUALL,  upon  a  sudden, 
Ccame  o'er  the  waters  scudding  ; 
And  the  clouds  began  to  gather. 
And  the  sea  was  lashed  to  lather. 
And  the  lowering  thunder  grumbled. 
And  the  lightning  jumped  and  tum- 
bled, 

And  the  ship,  and  all  the  ocean, 
Woke  up  in  wild  commotion. 
Then  the  wind  set  up  a  howling, 
And  the  poodle  dog  a  yowling. 
And  the  cocks  began  a  crowing. 
And  the  old  cow  raised  a  lowing, 
As  she  heard  the  tempest  blowing  ; 
And  fowls  and  geese  did  cackle, 
And  the  cordage  and  the  tackle 
Began  to  shriek  and  crackle  ; 
And  the  spray  dashed  o'er  the  funnels. 
And  down  the  deck  in  runnels  ; 
And  the  rushing  water  soaks  all. 
From  the  seamen  in  the  fo'ksal 
To  the  stokers  whose  black  faces 
Peer  out  of  their  bed-places  ; 
And  the  captain  he  was  bawling. 
And  the  sailors  pulling,  hauling. 
And  the  quarter-deck  tarpauling 
Was  shivered  in  the  squalling  ; 
And  the  passengers  awaken, 
Most  pitifully  shaken  ; 
And  the  steward  jumps  up,  and  has- 
tens 

For  the  necessary  basins. 

Then  the  Greeks  they  groaned  and 
quivered, 

And  they  knelt,  and  moaned,  and 

shivered, 
As  the  plunging  waters  met  them. 
And  splashed  and  overset  them  ; 
And  they  call  in  their  emergence 
Upon  countless  saints  and  virgins  ; 
And  their  marrowbones  are  bended, 
And  they  think  the  world  is  ended. 

And  the  Turkish  women  for'ard 
Were  frightened  and  behorror'd  ; 
And  shrieking  and  bewildering. 
The  mothers  clutched  their  children  ; 
The  men  sung     Allah  !  Illah  ! 
Mashallah  Bismillah  !  " 
As  the  warring  waters  doused  them 
And  splashed  them  and  soused  them, 
And  they  called  upon  the  Prophet, 
And  thought  but  little  of  it. 


Then  all  the  fleas  in  Jewry 
Jumped  up  and  bit  like  fury  ; 
And  the  progeny  of  Jacob 
Did  on  the  main-deck  wake  up 
(I  wot  those  greasy  Rabbins 
Would  never  pay  for  cabins)  ; 
And  each  man  moaned  and  jabbered 
in 

His  filthy  Jewish  gaberdine, 
In  woe  and  lamentation, 
And  howling  consternation. 
And  the  splashing  water  drenches 
Their  dirty  brats  and  wenches  ; 
And   they   crawl    from    bales  and 
benches 

In  a  hundred  thousand  stenches. 

This  was  the  White  Squall  famous, 
Which  latterly  o'ercame  us. 
And  which  all  will  well  remember 
On  the  28th  September  ; 
When  a  Prussian  captain  of  Lancers 
(Those  tight-laced,  whiskered  pran- 
cers) 

Came  on  the  deck  astonished, 

By  that  wild  squall  admonished. 

And  wondering  cried,  "  Potztausend, 

Wie  ist  der  Stiirm  jetzt  brausend  ?" 

And  looked  at  Captain  Lewis, 

Who  calmly  stood  and  blew  his 

Cigar  in  all  the  bustle, 

And  scorned  the  tempest's  tussle. 

And  oft  we've  thought  thereafter 

How  he  beat  the  storm  to  laughter ; 

For  well  he  knew  his  vessel 

With  that  vain  wind  could  wrestle  ; 

And  when  a  wreck  we  thought  her. 

And  doomed  ourselves  to  slaughter. 

How  gayly  he  fought  her, 

And  through  the  hubbub  brought  her. 

And  as  the  tempest  caught  her, 

Cried,   "  George  !   some  braxdy- 

AND-WATER ! " 

And  when,  its  force  expended, 
The  harmless  storm  was  ended. 
And  as  the  sunrise  splendid 

Came  blushing  o'er  the  sea  ; 
T  thought,  as  day  was  breaking, 
My  little  girls  were  waking, 
And  smiling,  and  making 

A  prayer  at  home  for  me. 
1844. 


262 


BALLADS. 


PEG  OF  LIMAVADDY. 

Riding  from  Coleraine 

(Famed  for  lovely  Kitty), 
Came  a  Cockney  bound 

Unto  Derry  city  ; 
Weary  was  his  soul, 

Shivering  and  sad,  he 
Bumped  along  the  road 

Leads  to  Limavaddy. 

Mountains  stretch'd  around, 

Gloomy  was  their  tinting, 
And  the  horse's  hoofs 

Made  a  dismal  dinting  ; 
Wind  upon  the  heath 

Howling  was  and  piping, 
On  the  heath  and  bog, 

Black  with  many  a  snipe  in. 
Mid  the  bogs  of  black. 

Silver  pools  were  flashing. 
Crows  upon  their  sides 

Picking  were  and  splashing. 
Cockney  on  the  car 

Closer  folds  his  plaidy, 
Grumbling  at  the  road 

Leads  to  Limavaddy. 

Through  the  crashing  woods 

Autumn  brawl'd  and  bluster'd, 
Tossing  round  about 

Leaves  the  hue  of  mustard  ; 
Yonder  lay  Lough  Foyle, 

Which  a  storm  was  whipping. 
Covering  with  mist 

Lake,  and  shores  and  shipping. 
Up  and  down  the  hill 

(Nothing  could  be  bolder). 
Horse  went  with  a  raw 

Bleeding  on  his  shoulder. 

Where  are  horses  changed  ?  " 

Said  I  to  the  laddy 
Driving  on  the  box  : 

"  Sir,  at  Limavaddy." 

Limavaddy  inn's 

]3ut  a  humble  bait-house, 
Where  yon  may  procure 

Wliiskey  and  y)otatoes  ; 
Landlord  at  IIk^  door 

Gives  a  smiling  welcome  — 
To  the  shivering  wiglits 

Who  to  his  hotel  come. 


Landlady  within 

Sits  and  knits  a  stocking. 
With  a  wary  foot 

Baby's  cradle  rocking. 
To  the  chimney  nook 

Having  found  admittance. 
There  I  watch  a  pup 

Playing  with  two  kittens  ; 
(Playing  round  the  fire. 

Which  of  blazing  turf  is. 
Roaring  to  the  pot 

Which  bubbles  with  the  murphiei 
And  the  cradled  babe 

Fond  the  mother  nursed  it, 
Singing  it  a  song 

As  she  twists  the  worsted  ! 

Up  and  down  the  stair 

Two  more  young  ones  patter 
(Twins  were  never  seen 

Dirtier  nor  fatter). 
Both  have  mottled  legs. 

Both  have  snubby  noses, 
Both  have  —  Here  the  host 

Kindly  interposes  : 
* '  Sure  you  must  be  froze 

With  the  sleet  and  hail,  sir  : 
So  will  you  have  some  punch. 

Or  will  you  have  some  ale,  sir  ?  " 

Presently  a  maid 

Enters  with  the  liquor 
(Half  a  pint  of  ale 

Frothing  in  a  beaker). 
Gads  !  1  didn't  know 

What  my  beating  heart  mea^nt : 
Hebe's  self  I  thought 

Entered  the  apartment. 
As  she  came  she  smiled. 

And  the  smile  bewitching, 
On  my  word  and  honor. 

Lighted  all  the  kitchen  ! 

With  a  curtsy  neat 

Greeting  the  new  comer. 
Lovely,  smiling  Peg 

Offers  me  the  rummer  ; 
But  my  trembling  hand 

Up  the  beaker  tilted. 
And  the  glass  of  ale 

Every  drop  I  spilt  it : 
Spilt  it  every  drop 

(Dames,  who  read  my  volumes, 
Pardon  such  a  word) 

On  my  what-d'ye-call-'ems  ! 


BALLADS. 


263 


Witnessing  the' sight 

Of  that  dire  disaster, 
Out  began  to  laugh 

Missis,  maid,  and  master  ; 
Such  a  merry  peal 

'Specially  Miss  Peg's  was, 
(As  the  glass  of  ale 

Trickling  down  my  legs  was,) 
That  the  joyful  sound  . 

Of  that  mingling  laughter 
Echoed  in  my  ears 

Many  a  long  day  after. 

Such  a  silver  peal  ! 

In  the  meadows  listening. 
You  who've  heard  the  bells 

Ringing  to  a  christening  ; 
You  who  ever  heard 

Caradori  pretty. 
Smiling  like  an  angel, 

Singing     Giovinetti ;  " 
Fancy  Peggy's  laugh. 

Sweet,  and  clear,  and  cheerful, 
At  my  pantaloons 

With  half  a  pint  of  beer  full  ! 

When  the  laugh  w^as  done, 

Peg,  the  pretty  hussy. 
Moved  about  the  room 

Wonderfully  busy  ; 
Now  she  looks  to  see 

If  the  kettle  keep  hot  ; 
Now  «he  rubs  the  spoons, 

Now  she  cleans  the  teapot ; 
Now  she  sets  the  cups 

Trimly  and  secure  : 
Now  she  scours  a  pot. 

And  so  it  was  I  drew  her. 

Thus  it  w^as  I  drew  her 

Scouring  of  a  kettle, 
(Faith  !  her  blushing  cheeks 

Redden 'd  on  the  metal  !  ) 
Ah  !  but  'tis  in  vain 

That  I  try  to  sketch  it  ; 
The  pot  perhaps  is  like. 

But  Peggy's  face  is  WTetched. 
No  !  the  best  of  lead 

And  of  Indian -rubber 
Never  could  depict 

That  sweet  kettle-scrubber  ! 

See  her  as  she  moves 

Scarce  the  ground  she  touches, 


Airy  as  a  fay. 

Graceful  as  a  duchess  ; 
Bare  her  rounded  arm. 

Bare  her  little  leg  is, 
Yestris  never  show'd 

Ankles  like  to  Peggy's. 
Braided  is  her  hair. 

Soft  her  look  and  modest. 
Slim  her  little  waist 

Comfortably  bodiced. 


This  I  do  declare, 

Ha|)[)y  is  the  laddy 
Wlio  the  heart  can  share 

Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
Married  if  she  were 

Blest  would  be  the  daddy 
Of  the  children  fair 

Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
Beauty  is  not  rare 

In  the  land  of  Paddy, 
Fair  beyond  compare 

Is  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 


Citizen  or  Squire, 

Tory,  Whig,  or  Radi- 
cal w^ould  all  desire 

Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
Had  1  Homer's  fire. 

Or  that  of  Serjeant  Taddy, 
Meetly  I'd  admire 

Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
And  till  I  expire, 

Or  till  I  grow  mad  I 
Will  sing  unto  my  lyre 

Peg  of  Limavaddy  ! 


MAY-DAY  ODE. 

But  yesterday  a  naked  sod 

The  dandies  sneered  from  Rotteo 
Row, 

And  cantered  o'er  it  to  and  fro  : 
And  see  'tis  done  ! 
As  though  'tw^ere  by  a  wizard's  rod 
A  blazing  arch  of  lucid  glass 
Leaps  like  a  fountain  from  the  grass 
To  meet  the  sun  ! 


264 


BALLADS. 


A  quiet  green  but  few  days  since, 
With  cattle  browsing  in  the  shade  : 
And  here  are  lines  of  bright  arcade 
In  order  raised  ! 
A  palace  as  for  fairy  Prince, 
A  rare  pavilion,  such  as  man 
Saw  never  since  mankind  began. 
And  built  and  glazed  ! 

A  peaceful  place  it  was  but  now. 
And  lo  !  within  its  shining  streets 
A  multitude  of  nations  meets  ; 

A  countless  throng 
I  see  beneath  the  crystal  bow, 

And  Gaul  and  German,  Kuss  and 
Turk, 

Each  with  his  native  handiwork 
And  busy  tongue. 

I  felt  a  thrill  of  love  and  awe 

To  mark  the  different  garb  of  each. 
The  changing  tongue,  the  various 
speech 

Together  blent  : 
A  thrill,  methinks,  like  His  who  saw 
"All  people  dwelling  upon  earth 
Praising  our  God  with  solemn  mirth 
And  one  consent." 

High  Sovereign,  in  your  Royal  state, 
Captains,  and  chiefs,  and  councillors, 
Before  the  lofty  palace  doors 
Are  open  set,  — 
Hush  !  ere  you  pass  the  shining  gate  ; 
Hush !  ere  the  heaving  curtain  draws, 
And  let  the  Royal  pageant  pause 
A  moment  yet. 

People  and  prince  a  silence  keep ! 
Bow  coronet  and  kingly  crown. 
Helmet  and  plume,  bow  lowly  down. 
The  while  the  priest. 
Before  the  splendid  portal  step, 

(While  still  the  wondrous  banquet 
stays,) 

From  Heaven  supreme  a  blessing 
prays 

Upon  the  feast. 

Then  onwards  hit  the  triumph  march  ; 
Tlien  let  the  loud  artillery  roll. 
And  trumpets  ring,  and  joy-bells 
toll, 

And  pass  the  gate. 


Pass  underneath  the  shining  arch, 
'Neath  which  the  leafy  elms  aregreen ; 
Ascend  unto  your  throne,  0  Queen  ! 
And  take  your  state. 

Behold  her  in  her  Royal  place  ; 
A  gentle  lady  ;  and  the  hand 
That  sways  the  sceptre  of  this  land, 
How  frail  and  weak  ! 
Soft  is  the  voice,  and  fair  the  face  : 
She  breathes  amen  to  prayer  and 
hymn  ; 

No  wonder  that  her  eyes  are  dim. 
And  pale  her  cheek. 

This  moment  round  her  empire's  shores 
The  winds  of  Austral  winter  sweep, 
And  thousands  lie  in  midnight  sleep 
At  rest  to-day. 
Oh  !  awful  is  that  crown  of  yours, 
Queen  of  innumerable  realms 
Sitting  beneath  the  budding  elms 
Of  English  May ! 

A  wondrous  sceptre  'tis  to  bear  : 
Strange  mystery  of  God  which  set 
Upon  her  brow  yon  coronet,  — 
The  foremost  crown 

Of  all  the  world,  on  one  so  fair  ! 

That  chose  her  to  it  from  her  birth, 

And  bade  the  sons  of  all  the  earth 

To  her  bow  down. 

« 

The  representatives  of  man 
Here  from  the  far  Antipodes, 
And  from  the  subject  Indian  seas, 
In  Congress  meet  ; 
From  Afric  and  from  Hindustan, 
From  Western  continent  and  isle. 
The  envoys  of  her  empire  pile 
Gifts  at  her  feet ; 

Our  brethren  cross  the  Atlantic  tides. 
Loading  the  gallant  decks  which 
once 

Roared  a  defiance  to  our  guns. 

With  peaceful  stoi'e  ; 
Symbol  of  peace,  their  vessel  rides  !  * 
O'er  English  waves  float  Star  and 
Stripe, 

And  firm  their  friendly  anchors  gripe 
The  father  shore  ! 

*  ThelJ.  S.  frigate  "  St.  Lawrence." 


BALLADS. 


266 


From  Rhine  and  Danube,  Rhone  and 
Seine, 

As  rivers  from  their  sources  gush, 
The  swelling  floods  of  nations  rush, 
And  seaward  pour  : 
From  coast  to  coast  in  friendly  chain. 
With  countless  ships  we  bridge  the 
straits. 

And  angry  ocean  separates 
Europe  no  more. 

From  Mississippi  and  from  Nile  — 
From  Baltic,  Ganges,  Bosphorous, 
In  England's  ark  assembled  thus 
Are  friend  and  guest. 
Look  down  the  mighty  sunlit  aisle. 
And  see  the  sumptuous  banquet  set, 
The  brotherhood  of  nations  met 
Around  the  feast  ! 

Along  the  dazzling  colonnade, 
Far  as  the  straining  eye  can  gaze, 
Gleam  cross  and  fountain,  bell  and 
vase, 

In  vistas  bright ; 
And  statues  fair  of  nymph  and  maid, 
And  steeds  and  pards  and  Amazons, 
Writhing  and  grappling  in  the 
bronze, 

In  endless  fight. 

To  deck  the  glorious  roof  and  dome, 
To  make  the  Queen  a  canopy. 
The  peaceful  hosts  of  industry 

Their  standards  bear. 

Yon  are  the  works  of  Brahmin  loom  ; 
On  such  a  web  of  Persian  thread 
The  desert  Arab  bows  his  head 

And  cries  his  prayer. 
Look  yonder  where  the  engines  toil  : 
^hese  England's  arms  of  conquest 
are. 

The  trophies  of  her  bloodless  war  : 
Brave  weapons  these. 
Victorious  over  wave  and  soil. 

With  these  she  sails,  she  weaves, 

she  tills. 
Pierces  the  everlasting  hills 

And  spans  the  seas. 

The  engine  roars  upon  its  race, 
The  shuttle  whirs  along  the  w^oof. 
The  people  hum  from  floor  to  roof, 
With  Babel  tongue. 


The  fountain  in  the  basin  x>lays. 
The  chanting  organ  echoes  clear, 
An  awful  chorus  'tis  to  hear, 
A  wondrous  song  ! 

Swell,  organ,  swell  your  trumpet  blast, 
March,  ()ueen  and  Royal  pageant, 

march 

By  splendid  aisle  and  springing  arch 
Of  this  fair  Hall  : 
And  see  !  above  the  fabric  vast, 

God's  boundless  Heaven  is  bending 
blue, 

God's  peaceful  sunlight's  beaming 
through. 

And  shines  o'er  all. 

May,  1851. 

 «  

THE  BALLAD  OF  BOUILLA- 
BAISSE. 

A  STREET  there  is  in  Paris  famous. 
For  which  no  rhyme  our  language 
yields, 

Rue  Neuve  des  Petits   Champs  its 
name  is  — 
The  New  Street  of  the  Little  Fields. 
And  here's  an  inn,  not  rich  and 
splendid. 
But  still  in  comfortable  case  ; 
The  which  in  youth  I  oft  attended, 
To  eat  a  bowl  of  Bouillabaisse. 

This  Bouillabaisse  a  noble  dish  is  — 
A  sort  of  soup  or  broth,  or  brew. 

Or  hotchpotch  of  all  sorts  of  fishes, 
That  Greenwich  never  could  outdo  ; 

Green  herbs,  red  peppers,  mussels, 
saffron. 

Soles,  onions,  garlic,  roach,  and  dace  : 
All  these  you  eat  at  Terre's  tavern, 
In  that  one  dish  of  Bouillabaisse. 

Indeed,  a  rich  and  savory  stew  'tis  ; 

And  true  philoso])hers,  methinks, 
Who  love  all  sorts  of  natural  beauties, 

Should  love  good  victuals  and  good 
drinks. 

And  Cordelier  or  Benedictine 

Might  gladly,  sure,  his  lot  embrace, 

Nor  find  a  fast-day  too  afflicting. 
Which  served  him  up  a  Bouillabaisse. 


266 


BALLADS. 


I  wonder  if  the  liouse  still  there  is  ? 

Yes,  here  the  lamp  is,  as  before  ; 
The  smiling  red-cheeked  ecaillere  is 

Still  opening  oysters  at  the  door. 
Is  Terr^  still  alive  and  able  ? 

I  recollect  his  droll  grimace  : 
He'd  come  and  smile  before  yonr  table. 

And  hope  you  liked  your  Bouilla- 
baisse. 

We  enter — nothing's  changed  or  older. 
"How's  Monsieur  Terr^:,  waiter, 
pray  ? " 

The  waiter  stares  and  shrugs  his 
shoulder  — 
**  Monsieur  is  dead  this  many  a 
day." 

It  is  the  lot  of  saint  and  sinner. 
So  honest  Terre's  run  his  race." 
"  What  will   Monsieur  require  for 
dinner  ?  " 
"  Say,  do  you  still  cook  Bouilla- 
baisse ? " 

Oh,  oui.  Monsieur,"  's  the  waiter's 
answer; 

**  Quel  vin  Monsieur  desire-t-il  ?  " 
Tell  me  a  good  one."  —    That  I 

can,'  Sir  : 
The  Chambertin  with  yellow  seal." 
"  So  Terre's  gone,"  I  say,  and  sink  in 

My  old  accustom'd  corner-place  ; 
"  He's  done  with  feasting  and  with 
drinking, 
With  Burgundy  and  Bouillabaisse." 

My  old  accustom'd  corner  here  is. 
The  table  still  is  in  the  nook  ; 

Ah  !  vanish'd  many  a  busy  year  is 
This  well-known  chair  since  last  I 
took. 

When  first  I  saw  ye,  cari  hwghi, 
I'd  scarce  a  beard  upon  my  face, 

And  now  a  grizzled,  grim  old  fogy, 
I  sit  and  wait  for  Bouillabaisse. 

Where  are  you,  old  companions  trusty 
Of  early  days  here  met  to  dine  ? 

Come,  waiter !  quick,  a  flagon  crusty — 
I'll  pledge  them  in  the  good  old 
wine. 

The  kind  old  voices  and  old  faces 
My  memory  can  quick  retrace  ; 


Around  the  board  they  take  their 
places, 

And  share  the  wine  and  Bouilla- 
baisse. 

There's  Jack  has  made  a  wondrous 
marriage  ; 
There's  laughing  Tom  is  laughing 
yet; 

There's  brave  Augustus  drives  his 
carriage  ; 
There's   poor  old   Fred   in  the 

Gazette; 

On  James's  head  the  grass  is  growing  ; 
Good  Lord  !  the  world  has  wagged 
apace 

Since  here  we  set  the  Claret  flowing. 
And  drank,  and  ate  the  Bouilla- 
baisse. 

Ah  me  !   how  quick  the  days  are 
flitting  ! 
I  mind  me  of  a  time  that's  gone, 
When  here  I'd  sit,  as  now  I'm  sitting, 
In  this  same  place  —  but  not  alone. 
A  fair  young  form  was  nestled  near  me, 
A  dear,  dear  face  looked  fondly  up, 
And  sweetly  spoke   and  smiled  to 
cheer  me 

—  There's  no  one  now  to  share  my 

cup. 

I  drink  it  as  the  Fates  ordain  it. 
Come,  fill  it,  and  have  done  with 
rhymes  : 

Fill  up  the  lonely  glass,  and  drain  it 
In  memory  of  dear  old  times. 

Welcome  the  wine,  whate'erthe  seal  is  ; 
And  sit  you  down  and  say  your 
grace 

With  thankful  heart,  whatever  iSe 
meal  is. 

—  Here  comes  the  smoking  Bouilla- 

baisse ! 

♦ 

THE  MAHOGANY  TREE. 

Christmas  is  here  : 
Winds  whistle  shrill, 
Icy  and  chill. 
Little  care  we  : 


BALLADS. 


267 


Little  we  fear 
Weather  without, 
Sheltered  about 
The  Mahogany  Tree. 

Once  on  the  boughs 
Birds  of  rare  plume 
Sang,  in  its  bloom  ; 
Night-birds  are  we  : 
Here  we  carouse. 
Singing  like  them, 
Perched  round  the  stem 
Of  the  jolly  old  tree. 

Here  let  us  sport, 
Boys,  as  we  sit ; 
Laughter  and  wit 
Flashing  so  free. 
Life  is  but  short  — 
When  we  are  gone, 
Let  them  sing  on. 
Round  the  old  tree. 

Evenings  we  knew, 
Happy  as  this  ; 
Faces  we  miss. 
Pleasant  to  see. 
Kind  hearts  and  true, 
Grentle  and  just, 
Peace  to  your  dust ! 
We  sing  round  the  tree. 

Care,  like  a  dun. 
Lurks  at  the  gate  : 
Let  the  dog  wait ; 
Happy  we'll  be  ! 
Drink*,  every  one  ; 
Pile  up  the  coals. 
Fill  the  red  bowls, 
Round  the  old  tree  ! 

Drain  we  the  cup.  — 
Friend,  art  afraid  ? 
Spirits  are  laid 
In  the  Red  Sea. 
Mantle  it  up  ; 
Empty  it  yet ; 
Let  us  forget, 
Round  the  old  tree. 

Sorrows,  begone  ! 
Life  and  its  ills, 
Duns  and  their  bills, 
Bid  we  to  flee. 


Come  with  the  dawn, 
Blue-devil  sprite. 
Leave  us  to-night, 
Round  the  old  tree. 

— # — 

THE  YANKEE  VOLUNTEERS. 

"  A  surgeon  of  the  United  States'  army 
says  that  on  inquiring  of  the  Captain  of  his 
company,  he  found  that  nine-tenths  of  the 
men  had  enlisted  on  account  of  some  female 
difficulty."  —  Morning  Paper. 

Ye  Yankee  Volunteers  ! 
It  makes  my  bosom  bleed 
When  I  your  story  read, 

Tliough  oft  'tis  told  one. 
So  —  in  both  hemispheres 
The  women  are  untrue. 
And  cruel  in  the  New, 

As  in  the  Old  one  ! 

What  —  in  this  company 

Of  sixty  sons  of  Mars, 

Who  march  'neath  Stripes  and  Stars, 

With  (ife  and  horn, 
Nine-tenths  of  all  we  see 
Along  the  warlike  line 
Had  but  one  cause  to  join 

This  Hope  Forlorn  ? 

Deserters  from  the  realm 
Where  tyrant  Venus  reigns, 
You  slipp'd  her  wicked  chains. 

Fled  and  out-ran  her. 
And  now,  with  sword  and  helm. 
Together  banded  are 
Beneath  the  Stripe  and  Star- 

Embroider'd  banner  ! 

And  is  it  so  with  all 

The  warriors  ranged  in  line. 

With  lace  bedizen'd  fine 

And  swords  gold-hilted  — 
Yon  lusty  corporal, 
Yon  color-man  who  gripes 
The  flag  of  Stars  ancl  Stripes  — 

Has  each  been  jilted  ? 

Come,  each  man  of  this  line, 
The  privates  strong  and  tall, 
"The  pioneers  and  all," 
The  fifer  nimble  — 


268 


BALLADS. 


Lieutenant  and  Ensign, 
Captain  with  epaulets, 
And  Blacky  there,  who  beats 
The  clanging  cymbal  — 

0  cymbal-beating  black, 
Tell  us,  as  thou  canst  feel, 
Was  it  some  Lucy  Neal 

Who  caused  thy  ruin  ? 
0  nimble  Hting  Jack, 
And  drummer  making  din 
So  deftly  on  the  skin, 

With  thy  rat-tattooing  — 

Confess,  ye  volunteers. 
Lieutenant  and  Ensign, 
And  Captain  of  the  line, 

As  bold  as  Roman  — 
Confess,  ye  grenadiers, 
However  strong  and  tall, 
The  Conqueror  of  you  all 

Is  Woman,  Woman  ! 

No  corselet  is  so  proof 

But  through  it  from  her  bow 

The  shafts  that  she  can  throw 

Will  pierce  and  rankle. 
No  champion  e'er  so  tough, 
But's  in  the  struggle  thrown. 
And  tripp'd  and  trodden  down 

By  her  slim  ankle. 

Thus  always  it  was  ruled: 
And  when  a  woman  smiled, 
The  strong  man  was  a  child. 

The  sage  a  noodle. 
Alcides  was  befool'd. 
And  silly  Samson  shorn. 
Long,  long  ere  you  were  born, 

Poor  Yankee  Doodle  ! 


THE  PEN  AND  THE  ALBUM. 

I  AM  Miss  Catherine's  book,"  the 

album  speaks  ; 
I've  lain  among  your  tomes  these 
many  weeks  ; 
I'm  tired  of  their  old  coats  and  yellow 
cheeks. 


Quick,  Pen  !  and  write  a  line  with  a 
good  grace  : 
Come  !  draw  me  off  a  funny  little  face  ; 
And,  prithee,  send  me  back  to  Ches- 
ham  Place." 

PEN. 

*'I  am  my  master's  faithful  old  Gold 
Pen  ; 

I've  served  him  three  long  years,  and 

drawn  since  then 
Thousands  of  funny  women  and  droll 

men. 

* '  0  Album  !  could  I  tell  you  all  his 
ways 

And  thoughts,  since  I  am  his,  these 

thousand  days. 
Lord,   how  your  pretty  pages  I'd 

amaze  ! " 

ALBUM. 

*'His  ways?    his  thoughts?  Just 

whisper  me  a  few  ; 
Tell  me  a  curious  anecdote  or  two, 
And  write  'em  quickly  off,  good  Mor- 

dan,  do!  " 

PEN. 

*  *  Since  he  my  faithful  service  did  en- 
gage 

To  follow  him  through  his  queer  pil- 
grimage, 

I've  drawn  and  written  many  a  line 
and  page. 

"Caricatures  I  scribbled  have,  and 
rhymes. 

And  dinner-cards,  and  picture  panto- 
mimes ; 

And  merry  little  children's  books  at 
times. 

I've  writ  the  foolish  fancy  of  his 
brain  ; 

The  aimless  jest  that,  striking,  hath 

caused  pain  ; 
The  idle  word  that  he'd  wish  back 

again. 

"I've  help'd  him  to  pen  many  a  line 
for  bread  ; 


BALLADS. 


269 


To  joke  with  sorrow  aching  in  his 
head  ; 

And  make  your  laughter  when  his  own 
heart  bled. 

**rve  spoke  with  men  of  all  degree 

and  sort  — 
Peers  of  the  land,  and  ladies  of  the 

Court  ; 

Oh,  but  I've  chronicled  a  deal  of  sport! 

**  Feasts  that  were  ate  a  thousand  days 
ago, 

Biddings  to  wine  that  long  hath  ceased 
to  flow. 

Gay  meetings  with  good  fellows  long 
laid  low  ; 

"  Summons  to  bridal,  banquet,  burial, 
ball. 

Tradesman's  polite  reminders  of  his 
small 

Account  due  Christmas  last  —  I've 
answered  all. 

**  Poor  Diddler  s  tenth  petition  for  a 

half- 
Guinea  ;  Miss  Bunyan's  for  an  auto- 
graph ; 

So  I  refuse,  accept,  lament,  or  laugh, 

•*  Condole,  congratulate,  invite,  praise, 
scoff. 

Day  after  day  still  dipping  in  my 
trough, 

And  scribbling  pages  after  pages  off. 

**  Day  after  day  the  labor's  to  be  done, 
And  sure  as  comes  the  postman  and 
the  sun, 

The  indefatigable  ink  must  run. 


"  Go  back,  my  pretty  little  gilded 
tome, 

To  a  fair  mistress  and  a  pleasant  home. 
Where  soft  hearts  greet  us  whenso- 
e'er  we  come  ! 

**Dear,  friendly  eyes,  with  constant 

kindness  lit. 
However  rude  my  verse,  or  poor  my 

wit. 

Or  sad  or  gay  my  mood,  you  welcome  it. 


Kind  lady  !  till  my  last  of  lines  is 
penn'd. 

My  master's  love,  grief,  laughter,  at  an 
end, 

Whene'er  I  write  your  name,  may  I 
write  friend  ! 

Not  all  are  so  that  were  so  in  past 
years ; 

Voices,  familiar  once,  no  more  he 
hears  ; 

Names,  often  writ,  are  blotted  out  in 
tears. 

"  So  be  it :— joys  will  end  and  tears 

will  dry  — 
Album  !   my  master  bids  me  wish 

good- by, 

He'll  send  you  to  your  mistress  pres- 
ently. 

''And  thus  with  thankful  heart  he 

closes  you  ; 
Blessing  the  happy  hour  when  a  friend 

he  knew 

So  gentle,  and  so  generous,  and  so  true. 

"Nor  pass  the  words  as  idle  phrases  by; 
Stranger  !  I  never  writ  a  flattery. 
Nor  sign'd  the  page  that  register'd  a 
lie." 


MRS.  KATHERINE'S  LANTERN. 

WRITTEN  IN  A  LADY's  ALBUM. 

"  Coming  from  a  gloomy  court. 
Place  of  Israelite  resort. 
This  old  lamp  I've  brought  with  me. 
Madam,  on  its  panes  you'll  see 
The  initials  K  and  E." 

"  An  old  lantern  brought  to  me  ? 

Ugly,  dingy,  battered,  black  !  " 

(Here  a  lady  I  suppose 

Turning  up  a  pretty  nose)  — 

"  Pray,  sir,  take  the  old  thing  back. 

Pve  no  taste  for  bricabrac." 

"  Please  to  mark  the  letters  twain  "  — 
(I'm  supposed  to  speak  again)  — 
*'  Graven  on  the  lantern  pane. 


270 


BALLADS. 


Can  you  tell  me  who  was  she, 
Mistress  of  the  flowery  wreath, 
And  the  anagram  beneath  — 
The  mysterious  K  E  ? 

"  Full  a  hundred  years  are  gone 
Since  the  little  beacon  shone 
From  a  Venice  balcony  : 
There,  on  summer  nights,  it  hung. 
And  her  lovers  came  and  sung 
To  their  beautiful  K  E. 

"  Hush  !  in  the  canal  below 
Don't  you  hear  the  plash  of  oars 
Underneath  the  lantern's  glow, 
And  a  thrilling  voice  begins 
To  the  sound  of  mandolins  ? 
Begins  singing  of  amore 
And  delire  and  dolore  — 
0  the  ravishing  tenore  ! 

"  Lady,  do  you  know  the  tune  ? 
Ah,  we  all  of  us  have  hummed  it  ! 
I've  an  old  guitar  has  thrummed  it. 
Under  many  a  changing  moon. 
Shall  I  try  it?    Do  re  MI  .  . 
What  is  this  ?    Ma  foi,  the  fact  is, 
That  my  hand  is  out  of  practice. 
And  my  poor  old  fiddle  cracked  is, 
And  a  man  —  I  let  the  truth  out,  — 
Who's  had  almost  every  tooth  out, 
Cannot  sing  as  once  he  sung, 
When  he  was  young  as  you  are  young. 
When  he  was  young  and  lutes  were 
strung. 

And    love-lamps   in    the  casement 
hung." 


LUCY'S  BIRTHDAY. 

Seventeen  rosebuds  in  a  ring. 
Thick  with  sister  flowers  beset. 
In  a  fragrant  coronet, 
Lucy's  servants  this  day  bring. 
Be  it  the  birthday  wreath  she  wears 
Fresh  and  fair,  and  symbolling 
The  young  number  of  her  years. 
The  sweet  blushes  of  her  spring. 

Types  of  youth  and  love  and  hope  ! 
Friendly  hearts  your  mistress  greet. 
Be  you  ever  fair  and  sweet, 
And  grow  lovelier  as  you  ope  ! 


Gentle  nursling,  fenced  about 
With  fond  care,  and  guarded  so, 
Scarce  you've  heard  of  storms  without, 
Frosts  that  bite  or  winds  that  blow  ! 

Kindly  has  your  life  begun. 
And  we  pray  that  heaven  may  send 
To  our  floweret  a  warm  sun, 
A  calm  summer,  a  sweet  end. 
And  where'er  shall  be  her  home, 
May  she  decorate  the  place  ; 
Still  expanding  into  bloom, 
And  developing  in  grace. 


THE  CANE-BOTTOM'D  CHAIR. 

In  tattered  old  slippers  that  toast  at 
the  bars, 

And  a  ragged  old  jacket  perfumed 

with  cigars. 
Away  from  the  world  and  its  toils  and 

its  cares, 

I've  a  snug  little  kingdom  up  four 
pair  of  stairs. 

To  mount  to  this  realm  is  a  toil,  to  be 
sure. 

But  the  fire  there  is  bright  and  the 

air  rather  pure  ; 
And  the  view  I  behold  on  a  sunshiny 

day 

Is  grand  through  the  chimney-pots 
over  the  way. 

This  snug  little  chamber  is  cramm'd 

in  all  nooks 
With  worthless  old  knick-knacks  and 

silly  old  books. 
And  foolish  old  odds  and  foolish  old 

ends. 

Crack' d  bargains  from  brokers,  cheap 
keepsakes  from  friends. 

Old  armor,  prints,  pictures,  pipes, 
china,  (all  crack'd,) 

Old  rickety  tables,  and  chairs  broken- 
backed  ; 

A  twopenny  treasury,  wondrous  to 

see  ; 

What  matter  ?  'tis  pleasant  to  you, 
friend,  and  me. 


BALLADS. 


271 


No  better  divan  need  the  Sultan  re- 
quire, 

Than  the  creaking  old  sofa  that  basks 

by  the  lire  ; 
And  'tis  wonderful,  surely,  what  music 

you  get 

From  the  rickety,  ramshackle,  wheezy 
spinet. 

That  praying-rug  came  from  a  Turco- 
man's camp  ; 

By  Tiber  once  twinkled  that  brazen 
old  lamp  ; 

A  mameluke  tierce  yonder  dagger  has 
drawn  : 

'Tis  a  murderous  knife  to  toast  muf- 
fins upon. 

Long,  long  through  the  hours,  and 

the  night,  and  the  chimes, 
Here  we  talk  of  old  books,  and  old 
friends,  and  old  times  ; 
■  As  we  sit  in  a  fog  made  of  rich  Lata- 
kie 

This  chamber  is  pleasant  to  you,  friend, 
and  me. 

But  of  all  the  cheap  treasures  that 

garnish  my  nest, 
There's  one  that  I  love  and  I  cherish 

the  best  : 

For  the  finest  of  couches  that's  padded 
with  hair 

I  never  would  change  thee,  my  cane- 
bottom'd  chair. 

'Tis  a  bandy-legg'd,  high-shoulder'd, 

worm-eaten  seat, 
With  a  creaking  old  back,  and  twisted 

old  feet  ; 

But  since  the  fair  morning  when  Fanny 
sat  there, 

I  bless  thee  and  love  thee,  old  cane- 
bottom'd  chair. 

If  chairs  have  but  feeling,  in  holding 
such  charms, 

A  thrill  must  have  pass'd  through 
your  wither' d  old  arms  ! 

I  look'd,  and  I  long'd,  and  I  wish'd 
in  despair  ; 

I  wish'd  myself  turn'd  to  a  cane-bot- 
tom'd  chair. 


It  was  but  a  moment  she  sat  in  this 
place. 

She'd  a  scarf  on  her  neck,  and  a  smile 

on  her  face  ! 
A  smile  on  her  face,  and  a  rose  in  her 

hair. 

And  she  sat  there,  and  bloom 'd  in  my 
cane-bottom'd  chair. 

And  so  I  have  valued  my  chair  ever 
since. 

Like  the  shrine  of  a  saint,  or  the 

throne  of  a  prince  ; 
Saint  Fanny,  my  patroness  sweet  I 

declare. 

The  queen  of  my  heart  and  my  cane- 
bottom'd  chair. 

When  the  candles  burn  low,  and  the 

company's  gone. 
In  the  silence  of  night  as  I  sit  here 

alone  — 

I  sit  here  alone,  but  we  yet  are  a  pair — 
My  Fanny  I  see  in  my  cane-bottom'd 
chair. 

She  comes  from  the  past  and  revisits 

my  room  ; 
She  looks  as  she  then  did,  all  beauty 

and  bloom  ; 
So  smiling  and  tender,  so  fresh  and  so 

fair. 

And  yonder  she  sits  in  my  cane-bot- 
tom'd chair. 


PISCATOR  AND  PISCATRIX. 

LINES  WRITTEN  TO  AN  ALBUM  PRINT. 

As  on  this  pictured  page  I  look. 
This  pretty  tale  of  line  and  hook 
As  though  it  were  a  novel-book 

Amuses  and  engages  : 
I  know  them  both,  the  boy  and  girl ; 
She  is  the  daugliter  of  the  Earl, 
The  lad  (that  has  his  hair  in  curl) 

My  lord  the  County's  page  is. 

A  pleasant  place  for  such  a  pair  ! 
The  fields  lie  basking  in  the  glare  ; 
No  breath  of  wind  the  heavy  air 
Of  lazy  summer  quickens. 


272 


BALLADS. 


Hard  by  you  see  the  castle  tall  ; 
The  village  nestles  round  the  wall, 
As  round  about  the  hen  its  small 
Young  progeny  of  chickens. 

It  is  too  hot  to  pace  the  keep  ; 
To  climb  the  turret  is  too  steep  ; 
My  lord  the  earl  is  dozing  deep, 
His  noonday  dinner  over  : 
The  postern-warder  is  asleep 
(Perhaps  they've  bribed  him  not  to 
peep)  : 

And  so  from  out  the  gate  they  creep, 
And  cross  the  fields  of  clover. 

Their  lines  into  the  brook  they  launch  ; 
He  lays  his  cloak  upon  a  branch, 
To  guarantee  his  Lady  Blanche 

's  delicate  complexion  : 
He  takes  his  rapier  from  his  haunch, 
That   beardless    doughty  champion 
staunch  ; 

He'd  drill  it  through  the  rival's  paunch 
That  question' d  his  affection  ! 

0  heedless  pair  of  sportsmen  slack  ! 
You  never  mark,  though  trout  or  jack, 
Or  little  foolish  stickleback. 

Your  baited  snares  may  capture. 
What  care  has  she  for  line  and  hook  ? 
She  turns  her  back,  upon  the  brook. 
Upon  her  lover's  eyes  to  look 

In  sentimental  rapture. 

0  loving  pair  !  as  thus  I  gaze 
Upon  the  girl  who  smiles  always, 
The  little  hand  that  ever  plays 

Upon  the  lover's  shoulder  ; 
In  looking  at  your  pretty  shapes, 
A  sort  of  envious  wish  escapes 
(Such  as  the  Fox  had  for  the  Grapes) 

The  Poet  your  beholder. 

To  be  brave,  handsome,  twenty-two  ; 
With  nothing  else  on  earth  to  do. 
But  all  day  long  to  bill  and  coo: 

It  were  a  pleasant  calling. 
And  had  I  such  a  partner  sweet ; 
A  tender  h(!art  for  mine  to  beat, 
A  gentle  hand  my  clasp  to  meet  ;  — 
I'd  let  the  world  flow  at  my  feet, 

And  never  he<id  its  brawling. 


THE  ROSE  UPON  MY  BALCONY. 

The  rose  upon  my  balcony  the  morn- 
ing air  perfuming. 

Was  leafless  all  the  winter  time  and 
pining  for  the  spring  ; 

You  ask  me  why  her  breath  is  sweet, 
and  why  her  cheek  is  blooming, 

It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  birds 
begin  to  sing. 

The  nightingale,  whose  melody  is 

through  the  greenwood  ringing, 
Was  silent  when  the  boughs  were  bare 

and  winds  were  blowing  keen  : 
And  if,  Mamma,  you  ask  of  me  the 

reason  of  his  singing. 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  all  the 

leaves  are  green. 

Thus  each  performs  his  part.  Mamma  ; 
the  birds  have  found  their  voices. 

The  blowing  rose  a  flush.  Mamma,  her 
bonny  cheek  to  dye  ; 

And  there's  sunshine  in  my  heart, 
Mamma,  which  wakens  and  re- 
joices, 

And  so  I  sing  and  blush.  Mamma,  and 
that's  the  reason  why. 


RONSARD  TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 

"  Quand  vous  serez  bien  vieille,  le  soir  k  la 
chandelle 

Assise  aupres  du  feu  devisant  et  filant, 
Direz,  chantant  mes  vers  en  vous  esmerveil- 
lant, 

Ronsard  m'a  cel6br6  du  temps  que  j'^tois 
belle." 

Some  winter  night,  shut  snugly  in 

Beside  the  fagot  in  the  hall, 
I  think  I  see  you  sit  and  spin. 

Surrounded  by  your  maidens  all. 
Old  tales  are  told,  old  songs  are  sung, 

Old  days  come  back  to  memory ; 
You  say,      When  I  was  fair  and 
young, 

A  poet  sang  of  me  !  " 

There's  not  a  maiden  in  your  hall, 
Though  tired  and  sleepy  ever  so, 

But  wakes,  as  you  my  name  recall, 
And  longs  the  history  to  know. 


BALLADS. 


273 


And,  as  the  piteous  tale  is  said, 
Of  lady  cold  and  lover  true, 

Each,  musing,  camcs  it  to  bed, 
And  sighs  and  envies  you  ! 

Our  lady's  old  and  feeble  now," 
They'll  say;  **she  once  was  fresh 
and  fair, 

And  yet  she  spurn'd  her  lover's  vow, 
And  heartless  left  him  to  despair  : 

The  lover  lies  in  silent  earth. 

No  kindly  mate  the  lady  cheers  ; 

She  sits  beside  a  lonely  hearth, 
With  threescore  and  ten  years  !  " 

Ah  !  dreary  thoughts  and  dreams  are 
those. 

But  wherefore  yield  me  to  despair. 
While  yet  the  poet's  bosom  glows. 

While  yet  the  dame  is  peerless  fair  ! 
Sweet  lady  mine  !  while  yet  'tis  time 

Requite  my  passion  and  my  truth. 
And  gather  in  their  blushing  prime 

The  roses  of  your  youth  ! 


AT  THE  CHURCH  GATE. 

Although  I  enter  not. 
Yet  round  about  the  spot 

Ofttimes  I  hover  : 
And  near  the  sacred  gate, 
With  longing  eyes  I  wait. 

Expectant  of  her. 

The  Minster  bell  tolls  out 
Above  the  city's  rout, 

And  noise  and  humming  : 
They've  hush'd  the  Minster  bell  : 
The  organ  'gins  to  swell  : 

She's  coming,  she's  coming  ! 

My  lady  comes  at  last, 

Timid,  and  stepping  fast. 
And  hastening  hither. 

With  modest  eyes  downcast  : 

She  comes  —  she's  here  —  she's  past- 
May  heaven  go  with  her  ! 

Kneel,  undisturb'd,  fair  Saint  ! 
Pour  out  your  praise  or  plaint 
Meekly  and  dul}^  ; 


I  will  not  enter  there. 
To  sully  your  pure  prayer 
With  thoughts  unruly. 

But  suffer  me  to  pace 
Round  the  forbidden  place, 

Lingering  a  minute 
Like  outcast  spirits  who  wait 
And  see  through  heaven's  gate 

Angels  within  it. 


THE  AGE  OF  WISDOM. 

Ho,  pretty  page,  with  the  dimpled 
chin. 

That  never  has  known  the  Barber's 
shear. 

All  your  wish  is  woman  to  win. 
This  is  the  way  that  boys  begin,  — 
Wait  till  you  come  to  Forty  Year. 

Curly  gold  locks  cover  foolish  brains, 
Billing  and  cooing  is  all  your  cheer  ; 
Sighing  and   singing   of  midnight 
strains. 

Under  Bonnybell's  window  panes,  — 
Wait  till  you  come  to  Forty  Year. 

Forty  times  over  let  Michaelmas  pass, 
Grizzling  hair  the  brain  doth  clear — 
Then  you  know  a  boy  is  an  ass. 
Then  you  know  the  worth  of  a  lass. 
Once  you  have  come  to  Forty  Year. 

Pledge  me  round,  I  bid  ye  declare, 
All  good  fellows  w^hose  beards  are 
gray. 

Did  not  the  fairest  of  the  fair 
Common  grow  and  wearisome  ere 
Ever  a  month  was  passed  away  ? 

The  reddest  lips  that  ever  have  kissed. 
The  brightest  eyes  that  ever  have 
shone. 

May  pray  and  whisper,  and  we  not 
list, 

Or  look  away,  and  never  be  missed, 
Ere  yet  ever  a  month  is  gone. 


18 


274 


BALLADS. 


Gillian's  dead,  God  rest  her  bier, 

How  I  loved  her  twenty  years  syne  ! 
Marian's  married,  but  I  sit  here 
Alone  and  merry  at  Forty  Year, 
Dipping  my  nose  in  the  Gascon 
wine. 


SORROWS  OF  WERTHER. 

Werther  had  a  love  for  Charlotte 
Such  as  words  could  never  utter  ; 

Would  you  know  how  first  he  met  her  ? 
She  was  cutting  bread  and  butter. 

Charlotte  was  a  married  lady, 
And  a  moral  man  was  Werther, 

And,  for  all  the  wealth  of  Indies, 
Would  do  nothing  for  to  hurt  her. 

So  he  sighed  and  pined  and  ogled. 
And  his  passion  boiled  and  bubbled. 

Till  he  blew  his  silly  brains  out. 
And  no  more  was  by  it  troubled. 

Charlotte,  having  seen  his  body 
Borne  before  her  on  a  shutter, 

Like  a  well-conducted  person, 

Went  on  cutting  bread  and  butter. 


A  DOE  IN  THE  CITY. 

Little  Kitty  Lorimer, 
Fair,  and  young,  and  witty. 

What  has  brought  your  ladyship 
Rambling  to  the  City  ? 

All  the  Stags  in  Capel  Court 

Saw  her  lightly  trip  it  ; 
All  the  lads  of  Stock  Exchange 

Twigg'd  her  muff  and  tippet. 

With  a  sweet  perplexity, 

And  a  mystery  pretty. 
Threading     through  Threadneedle 
Street, 

Trots  the  little  Kitty. 


What  was  my  astonishment  — 
What  was  my  compunction. 

When  she  reached  the  Offices 
Of  the  Didland  Junction  ! 

Up  the  Didland  stairs  she  went, 
To  the  Didland  door,  Sir ; 

Porters  lost  in  wonderment. 
Let  her  pass  before.  Sir. 

**  Madam,"  says  the  old  chief  Clerk, 
"  Sure  we  can't  admit  ye." 

"  Where's    the    Didland  Junction 
deed  ? " 
Dauntlessly  says  Kitty. 

If  you  doubt  my  honesty. 
Look  at  my  receipt.  Sir." 
Up  then  jumps  the  old  chief  Clerk, 
Smiling  as  he  meets  her. 

Kitty  at  the  table  sits 

(Whither  the  old  Clerk  leads  her), 
I  deliver  this,''  she  says, 
"  As  my  act  and  deed.  Sir" 

When  I  heard  these  funny  words 
Come  from  lips  so  pretty  ; 

This,  I  thought,  should  surely  be 
Subject  for  a  ditty. 

What  !  are  ladies  stagging  it  ? 

Sure,  the  more's  the  pity  ; 
But  I've  lost  my  heart  to  her,  — 

Naughty  little  Kitty. 


THE  LAST  OF  MAY. 

(in  reply  to  an  invitation  dated 
ON  the  1st.) 

By  fate's  benevolent  award, 
Should  I  survive  the  day, 

I'll  drink  a  bumper  with  my  lord 
Upon  the  last  of  May. 

That  I  may  reach  that  happy  time 

The  kindly  gods  I  pray, 
For  are  not  ducks  and  pease  in  primQ 

Upon  the  last  of  May  ? 


BALLADS. 


275 


At  thirty  boards,  'twixt  now  and  then, 
My  knife  and  fork  shall  play ; 

But  better  wine  and  better  men 
I  shall  not  meet  in  May. 

And  though,  good  friend,  with  whom 
I  dine, 

Your  honest  head  is  gray. 
And,  like  this  giizzled  head  of  mine. 

Has  seen  its  last  of  May  ; 

Yet,  with  a  heart  that's  ever  kind, 

A  gentle  spirit  gay, 
YouVe  spring  perennial  in  your  mind. 

And  round  you  make  a  May  ! 

 4 — 


*'AH,   BLEAK  AND  BARREN 
WAS  THE  MOOR." 

Ah  !  bleak  and  barren  was  the  moor, 
Ah !  loud  and  piercing  was  the  storm, 

The  cottage  roof  was  shelter'd  sure, 
The  cottage  hearth  was  bright  and 
warm  — 

An  orphan -boy  the  lattice  pass'd, 
And,  as  he  mark'd  its  cheerful  glow. 

Felt  doubly  keen  the  midnight  blast. 
And  doubly  cold  the  fallen  snow. 

They  marked  him  as  he  onward  press'd, 

With  fainting  heart  and  weary  limb; 
Kind  voices  bade  him  turn  and  rest, 

And  gentle  faces  welcomed  him. 
The  dawn  is  up  —  the  guest  is  gone. 

The  cottage  hearth  is  blazing  still  : 
Heaven  pity  all  poor  wanderers  lone  ! 

Hark  to  the  wind  upon  the  hill  ! 


SONG  OF  THE  VIOLET. 

A  HUMBLE  flower  long  time  I  pined 

Upon  the  solitary  plain, 
And  trembled  at  the  angry  wind. 

And  shrunk  before  the  bitter  rain. 
And  oh  !  'twas  in  a  blessed  hour 

A  passing  wanderer  chanced  to  see, 
And,  pitying  the  lonely  flower. 

To  stoop  and  gather  ir.e. 


I  fear  no  more  the  tempest  rude. 

On  dreary  heath  no  more  I  pine, 
But  left  my  cheerless  solitude. 

To  deck  the  breast  of  Caroline. 
Alas  our  days  are  brief  at  best. 

Nor  long  I  fear  will  mine  endure. 
Though  shelter'd  here  upon  a  breast 

So  gentle  and  so  pure. 

It  draws  the  fragrance  from  my  leaves. 

It  robs  me  of  my  sweetest  breath, 
And  every  time  it  falls  and  heaves, 

It  warns  me  of  niy  coming  death. 
But  one  I  know  would  glad  forego 

All  joys  of  life  to  be  as  I  ; 
An  hour  to  rest  on  that  sweet  breast, 

And  then,  contented,  die  ! 


FAIRY  DAYS. 

Beside  the  old  hall-fire  —  upon  my 

nurse's  knee. 
Of  happy  fairy  days  —  what  tales  were 

told  to  me  ! 
I  thought  the  world  was  once — all 

peopled  with  princesses, 
And  my  heart  would  beat  to  hear  — 

their  loves  and  their  distresses  : 
And  many  a  quiet  night,  —  in  slumber 

sweet  and  deep, 
The  pretty  fairy  people  —  would  visit 

me  in  sleep. 

I  saw  them  in  my  dreams  —  come  fly- 
ing east  and  west. 

With  wondrous  fairy  gifts  —  the  new- 
born babe  they  bless' d  ; 

One  has  brought  a  jewel  —  and  one  a 
crown  of  gold. 

And  one  has  brought  a  curse  —  but 
she  is  wrinkled  and  old. 

The  gentle  queen  turns  pale  —  to  hear 
those  words  of  sin, 

But  the  king  he  only  laughs  —  and 
bids  the  dance  begin. 

The  babe  has  growa  to  be  —  the  fairest 

of  the  land, 
And  rides  the  forest  green  —  a  hawk 

upon  her  hand, 
An  ambiiiig  palfrey  white —  a  golden 

robe  and  crown  ; 


276 


BALLADS. 


I've  seen  her  in  my  dreams  —  riding 

up  and  down  : 
And  heard  the  ogre  laugh  —  as  she 

fell  into  his  snare, 
At  the  little  tender  creature  —  who 

wept  and  tore  her  hair  ! 

But  ever  when  it  seemed  —  her  need. 

was  at  the  sorest, 
A  prince  in   shining  mail  —  comes 

prancing  through  the  forest, 
A  waving  ostrich-plume  —  a  buckler 

burnished  bright  ; 
I've  seen  him  in  my  dreams  —  good 

sooth  !  a  gallant  knight. 
His  lips  are  coral  red  —  beneath  a  dark 

moustache  ; 
See  how  he  waves  his  hand  —  and  how 

his  blue  eyes  flash  ! 

"  Come  forth,  thou  Paynim  knight  !  " 
—  he  shouts  in  accents  clear. 

The  giant  and  the  maid  —  both  trem- 
ble his  voice  to  hear. 

Saint  Mary  guard  him  well !  —  he 
draws  his  falchion  keen, 

The  giant  and  the  knight  —  are  fight- 
ing on  the  green. 

I  see  them  in  my  dreams  —  his  blade 
gives  stroke  on  stroke, 

The  giant  pants  and  reels  —  and  tum- 
bles like  an  oak  ! 

With  what  a  blushing  grace  —  he  falls 

upon  his  knee 
And  takes  the  lady's  hand  —  and 

whispers,  "  You  are  free  !  " 
Ah  !  happy  childish  tales  —  of  knight 

and  faerie  ! 
I  waken  from  my  dreams  — but  there's 

ne'er  a  knight  for  me  ; 
I  waken  from  my  dreams  —  and  wish 

that  I  could  be 
A  child  by  the  old  hall-fire  —  upon 

my  nurse's  knee ! 


POCAHONTAS. 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
Wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight  : 

Round  him  press  a  countless  horde. 
He  is  but  a  single  knight. 


Hark  !  a  cry  of  triumph  shrill 
Through  the  wilderness  resounds, 
As,  with  twenty  bleeding  wounds, 

Sinks  the  warrior,  fighting  still. 

Now  they  heap  the  fatal  pyre, 
And  the  torch  of  death  they  light  : 

Ah  !  'tis  hard  to  die  of  fire  ! 

Who  will  shield  the  captive  knight  ? 

Round  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry 
Wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd, 
Cold  the  victim's  mien,  and  proud, 

And  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 

Who  will  shield  the  fearless  heart  ? 

Who  avert  the  murderous  blade  ? 
From  the  throng,  with  sudden  start, 

See  there  springs  an  Indian  maid. 
Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight, 

'*  Loose  the  chain,  unbind  the  ring, 

I  am  daughter  of  the  king. 
And  I  claim  the  Indian  right ! " 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings 
Lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife  ; 

Fondly  to  his  heart  she  clings. 
And  her  bosom  guards  his  life ! 

In  the  woods  of  Powhattan, 
Still  'tis  told  by  Indian  fires. 
How  a  daughter  of  their  sires 

Saved  the  captive  Englishman. 


FROM  POCAHONTAS. 

Returning  from  the  cruel  fight 
How  pale   and   faint  appears  my 

knight  ! 
He  sees  me  anxious  at  his  side  ; 
Why  seek,  my  love,  your  wounds 

to  hide  ? 
Or  deem  your  English  girl  afraid 
To  emulate  the  Indian  maid  ? " 

Be  mine  my  husband's  grief  to  cheer 
In  peril  to  be  ever  near  ; 
Whate'er  of  ill  or  woe  betide, 
To  bear  it  clinging  at  his  side  ; 
The  poisoned  stroke  of  fate  to  ward. 
His  bosom  with  my  own  to  guard  : 
Ah  !  could  it  spare  a  p.ing  to  his. 
It  could  not  know  a  purer  bliss  ! 
'Twould  gladden  as  it  felt  the  smart, 
And  thank  the  hand  that  flung  the 
dart ! 


LOVE-SONGS  MADE  EASY. 


WHAT  MAKES  MY  HEART  TO 
THRILL  AND  GLOW? 

THE  MAYFAIR  LOVE-SONG. 

Winter   and  summer,   night  and 
morn, 

I  languish  at  this  table  dark  ; 

My  office  window  has  a  corn- 
er looks  into  St.  James's  Park. 

I  hear  the  foot-guards'  bugle-horn, 
Their  tramp  upon  parade  I  mark  ; 

I  am  a  gentleman  forlorn, 
I  am  a  Foreign-Office  Clerk. 

My  toils,  my  pleasures,  every  one, 

I  find  are  stale,  and  dull,  and  slow  ; 
And  yesterday,  when  work  was  done, 

I  felt  myself  so  sad  and  low, 
I  could  have  seized  a  sentry's  gun 

My  wearied  brains  out  out  to  blow. 
What  is  it  makes  my  blood  to  run  ? 

What  makes  my  heart  to  beat  and 
glow  ? 

My  notes  of  hand  are  burnt,  perhaps  ? 

Some  one  has  paid  my  tailor's  bill  ? 
No  :  every  morn  the  tailor  raps  ; 

My  I  0  U's  are  extant  still. 
I  still  am  prey  of  debt  and  dun  ; 

My  elder  brother's  stout  and  well. 
What  is  it  makes  my  blood  to  run  ? 

What  makes  my  heart  to  glow  and 
swell  ? 

I  know  my  chiefs  distrust  and  hate  ; 

He  says  I'm  lazy,  and  I  shirk. 
Ah  !  had  I  genius  like  the  late 

Right  Honorable  Edmund  Burke  ! 


My  chance  of  all  promotion's  gone, 
I  know  it  is,  —  he  hates  me  so. 

What  is  it  makes  my  blood  to  run. 
And  all  my  heart  to  swell  and  glow  ? 


Why,  why  is  all  so  bright  and  gay  ? 
There  is  no  change,  there  is  no 
cause  ; 

My  office-time  I  found  to-day 

Disgusting  as  it  ever  was. 
At  three,  I  went  and  tried  the  Clubs, 

And  yawned  and  saunter'd  to  and 
fro  ; 

And  now  my  heart  jumps  up  and 
throbs, 

And  all  my  soul  is  in  a  glow. 


At  half-past  four  I  had  the  cab  ; 
I  drove  as  hard  as  I  could  go. 

The  London  sky  was  dirty  drab, 
And  dirty  brown  the  London  snow. 

And  as  I  rattled  in  a  cant- 
er down  by  dear  old  Bolton  Row, 

A  something  made  my  heart  to  pant, 
And  caused  my  cheek  to  flush  and 
glow. 


What  could  it  be  that  made  me  find 
Old  Jawkins  pleasant  at  the  Club  ? 
Why  was   it  that  I   laughed  and 
grinned 

At  whist,  although  I  lost  the  rub  ? 
What  was  it  made  me  drink  like  mad 

Thirteen  small  glasses  of  Cui'aco  ? 
That  made  my  inmost  heart  so  glad, 

And  every  fibre  thrill  and  glow  ? 


278 


BALLADS. 


She's  home  again  !  she's  home,  she's 
home  ! 

Away  all  cares  and  griefs  and  pain  ; 
I  knew  she  would  —  she's  back  from 
Rome  ; 

She's  home  again  !  she's  home  again  ! 
The  family's  gone  abroad,"  they  said, 
September  last  —  they  told  me  so  ; 
Since  then  my  lonely  heart  is  dead, 
My  blood  I  think' s  forgot  to  flow. 

She's  home  again  !  away  all  care  ! 

0  fairest  form  the  world  can  show  ! 
0  beaming  eyes  !    0  golden  hair  ! 

0  tender  voice,  that  breathes  so  low  ! 

0  gentlest,  softest,  purest  heart  ! 

0  joy,  0  hope  !  —  "  My  tiger,  ho  !  " 
Fitz- Clarence    said ;     we  saw  him 
start  — 

He  galloped  down  to  Bolton  Row. 
— 

THE  GHAZUL,   OR  ORIENTAL 
LOVE-SONG. 

THE  ROCKS. 

1  WAS  a  timid  little  antelope  ; 

My  home  was  in  the  rocks,  the  lonely 
rocks. 

I  saw  the  hunters  scouring  on  the 
plain  ; 

I  lived  among  the  rocks,  the  lonely 
rocks. 

I  was  a-thirsty  in  the  summer-heat ; 
I  ventured  to  the  tents  beneath  the 
rocks. 

Zuleikah  brought  me  water  from  the 
well  ; 

Since  then  I  have  been  faithless  to  the 
rocks. 

I  saw  her  face  reflected  in  the  well  ; 
Her  camels  since  have  marched  into 
the  rocks. 

I  look  to  see  her  image  in  the  well  ; 
I  only  see  my  eyes,  my  own  sad  eyes. 
My  mother  is  alone  among  the  rocks. 


THE  MERRY  BARD. 

Zuleikah  !  The  young  Agas  in  the 
bazaar  are  slim-wasted  and  wear  yel- 
low slippers.  1  am  old  and  hideous. 
One  of  my  eyes  is  out,  and  the  hairs 
of  my  beard  are  mostly  gray.  Praise 
be  to  Allah  !    I  am  a  merry  bard. 

There  is  a  bird  upon  the  terrace  of 
the  Emir's  chief  wife.  Praise  be  to 
Allah  !  He  has  emeralds  on  his  neck, 
and  a  ruby  tail.  I  am  a  merry  bard. 
He  deafens  me  with  his  diabolical 
screaming. 

There  is  a  little  brown  bird  in  the 
basket-maker's  cage.  Praise  be  to 
Allah  !  He  ravishes  my  soul  in  the 
moonlight.    I  am  a  merry  bard. 

The  peacock  is  an  Aga,  but  the 
little  bird  is  a  Bulbul. 

I  am  a  little  brown  Bulbul.  Come 
and  listen  in  the  moonlight.  Praise 
be  to  Allah  !    I  am  a  merry  bard. 


THE  CAIQUE. 

Yonder  to  the  kiosk,  beside  the  creek, 

Paddle  the  swift  caique. 

Thou  brawny  oarsman  with  the  sun- 
burnt cheek. 

Quick  !  for  it  soothes  my  heart  to  hear 
the  Bulbul  speak. 

Ferry  me  quickly  to  the  Asian  shores, 
Swift  bending  to  your  oars. 
Beneath  the  melancholy  sycamores, 
Hark  !  what  a  ravishing  note  the  love- 
lorn Bulbul  pours. 

Behold,  the  boughs  seem  quivering 

with  delight, 
The  stars  themselves  more  bright, 
As  mid  the  waving  branches  out  of 

sight 

The  Lover  of  the  Rose  sits  singing 
through  the  night. 


LOVE-SONGS 

Under  the  boughs  I  sat  and  listened 
still, 

I  could  not  have  my  fill. 

**  How  comes,"  I  said,  such  music 
to  his  bill  ? 

Tell  me  for  whom  he  sings  so  beauti- 
ful a  trill." 

"Once  I  was  dumb,"  then  did  the 

Bird  disclose. 
But  looked  upon  the  Rose  ; 
And  in  the  garden  where  the  loved 

one  grows, 
1  straightway  did  begin  sweet  music 

to  compose." 

0  bird  of  song,  there's  one  in  this 
caique 

The  Rose  would  also  seek, 

So  he  might  learn  like  you  to  love 

and  speak." 
Then  answered  me  the  bird  of  dusky 

beak, 

"  The  Rose,  the  Rose  of  Love  blushes 
on  Leilah's  cheek." 


MY  NORA. 

Beneath  the  gold  acacia  buds 
My  gentle  Nora  sits  and  broods, 
Far,  far  away  in  Boston  woods 

My  gentle  Nora  ! 

I  see  the  tear-drop  in  her  e'e, 
Her  bosom's  heaving  tenderly  ; 
I  know  —  I  know  she  thinks  of  me, 
My  Darling  Nora  ! 

And  where  am  I  ?    My  love,  w^hilst 
thou 

Sitt'st  sad  beneath  the  acacia  bough. 
Where  pearl's  on  neck,  and  wreath 
on  brow, 

I  stand,  my  Nora  ! 

Mid  carcanet  and  coronet, 

Where  joy-lamps  shine  and  flowers 

are  set  — 
Where  England's  chivalry  are  met. 

Behold  me,  Nora  ! 


MADE  EASY.  279 

In  this  strange  scene  of  revelry, 
Amidst  this  gorgeous  chivalry, 
A  form  I  saw  was  like  to  thee. 

My  love  —  my  Nora  ! 

She  paused  amidst  her  converse  glad  ; 
The  lady  saw  that  I  was  sad. 
She  pitied  the  poor  lonely  lad, — 

Dost  love  her,  Nora  ? 

In  sooth,  she  is  a  lovely  dame, 
A  lip  of  red,  and  eye  of  flame. 
And  clustering  golden  locks,  the  same 
As  thine,  dear  Nora  ? 


Her  glance  is  softer  than  the  dawn's, 
Her  foot  is  lighter  than  the  fawn's. 
Her  breast  is  whiter  than  the  swan's. 
Or  thine,  my  Nora  ! 


Oh,  gentle  breast  to  pity  me  ! 
Oh,  lovely  Ladye  Emily  ! 
Till  death— till  death  I'll  think  of 
thee  — 

Of  thee  and  Nora  ! 


4- 


TO  MARY. 

I  SEEM,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd. 

The  lightest  of  all ; 
My  laughter  rings  cheery  and  loud. 

In  banquet  and  ball. 
My  lip  hath  its  smiles  and  its  sneers. 

For  all  men  to  see  ; 
But  my  soul,  and  my  truth,  and  my 
tears, 

Are  for  thee,  are  for  thee  ! 


Around  me  they  flatter  and  fawn  — 

The  young  and  the  old. 
The  fairest  are  ready  to  pawn 

Their  hearts  for  my  gold. 
They  sue  me  —  I  laugh  as  I  spurn 

The  slaves  at  my  knee  ; 
But  in  faith  and  in  Tondness  I  turn 

Unto  thee,  unto  thee  ! 


280 


BALLADS. 


SERENADE. 

Now  the  toils  of  day  are  over, 
And  the  sun  hath  sunk  to  rest, 

Seeking,  like  a  fiery  lover, 

The  bosom  of  the  blushing  west  — 

The  faithful  night  keeps  watch  and 
ward, 

Raising  the  moon  her  silver  shield, 
And  summoning  the  stars  to  guard 
The  slumbers  of  my  fair  Mathilde  ! 

The  faithful  night  !  Now  all  things  lie 
Hid  by  her  mantle  dark  and  dim, 

In  pious  hope  I  hither  hie, 

And  humbly  chant  mine  ev'ning 
hymn. 

Thou  art  my  prayer,  my  saint,  my 
shrine  ! 

(For  never  holy  pilgrim  kneel'd. 
Or  wept  at  feet  more  pure  than  thine), 
My  virgin  love,  my  sweet  Mathilde  ! 


THE  MINARET  BELLS. 

TiNK-A-TiNK,  tink-a-tink, 
By  the  light  of  the  star, 

On  the  blue  river's  brink, 
I  heard  a  guitar. 


I  heard  a  guitar. 

On  the  blue  waters  clear, 
And  knew  by  its  music, 

That  Selim  was  near  ! 

Tink-a-tink,  tink-a-tink. 
How  the  soft  music  swells. 

And  I  hear  the  soft  clink 
Of  the  minaret  bells  I 


COME    TO    THE  GREENWOOD 
TREE. 

Come  to  the  greenwood  tree. 
Come  where  the  dark  woods  be, 
Dearest,  0  come  with  me  ! 
Let  us  rove  —  0  my  love  —  0  my  love! 

Come  —  'tis  the  moonlight  hour, 
Dew  is  on  leaf  and  flower. 
Come  to  the  linden  bower, — 
Let  us  rove  —  0  my  love  —  0  my  love! 

Dark  is  the  wood,  and  wide  : 
Dangers,  they  say,  betide  ; 
But,  at  my  Albert's  side. 
Nought  I  fear,  0  my  love — 0  my  love! 

Welcome  the  greenwood  tree, 
Welcome  the  forest  free. 
Dearest,  with  thee,  with  thee, 
Nought  I  fear,  0  my  love  —  0  my  love! 


FIVE  GEEMAN  DITTIES. 


A  TRAGIC  STORY. 

BY  ADELBERT  VON  CHAMISSO. 

**  's  war  Einer,  dem's  zu  Herzen  gieng." 

There  lived  ca  sage  in  days  of  yore 
And  he  a  handsome  pigtail  wore  ; 
But  wondered  much  and  sorrowed  more 
Because  it  hung  behind  him. 

He  mused  upon  this  curious  case, 
And  swore  he'd  change  the  pigtail's 
place, 

And  have  it  hanging  at  his  face, 

Not  dangling  there  behind  him. 

Says  he,  "  The  mystery  I've  found,  — 
I'll  turn  me  round,"  —  he  turned  him 
round  ; 

But  still  it  hung  behind  him. 

Then  round,  and  round,  and  out  and  in, 
All  day  the  puzzled  sage  did  spin  ; 
In  vain  —  it  mattered  not  a  pin,  — 
The  pigtail  hung  behind  him. 

And  right,  and  left,  and  round  about, 
And  up,  and  down,  and  in,  and  out. 
He  turned  ;  but  still  the  pigtail  stout 
Hung  steadily  behind  him. 

And  though  his  efforts  never  slack, 
And  though  he  twist,  and  twirl,  and 

tack, 

Alas  !  still  faithful  to  his  back 

The  pigtail  hangs  behind  him. 


THE  CHAPLET. 

FROM  UHLAND. 

**  Es  pfluckte  Blumlein  mannigfalt." 

A  LITTLE  girl  through  field  and  wood 
Went  plucking  flowerets  here  and 
there, 

When  suddenly  beside  her  stood 
A  lady  wondrous  fair  ! 


The  lovely  lady  smiled,  and  laid 

A  wreath  upon  the  maiden's  brow  ; 
"Wear  it,  'twill  blossom  soon,"  she 
said, 

"  Although  'tis  leafless  now." 

The  little  maiden  older  grew 

And  wandered  forth  of  moonlight 
eves. 

And  sighed  and  loved  as  maids  will  do  ; 
When,  lo  !  her  wreath  bore  leaves. 

Then  was  our  maid  a  wife,  and  hung 
Upon  a  joyful  bridegroom's  bosom  ; 

When  from  the  garland's  leaves  there 
sprung 
Fair  store  of  blossom. 


And  presently  a  baby  fair 

Upon  her  gentle  breast  she  reared  ; 
When  midst  the  wreath  that  bound 
her  hair 

Rich  golden  fruit  appeared. 


282 


BALLADS. 


But  when  her  love  lay  cold  in  death, 
Sunk  in  the  black  and  silent  tomb, 

All  sere  and  withered  was  the  wreath 
That  wont  so  bright  to  bloom. 

Yet  still  the  withered  wreath  she  wore  ; 

She  wore  it  at  her  dying  hour  ; 
"When,  lo  !  the  wondrous  garland  bore 

Both  leaf,  and  fruit,  and  flower  ! 


THE  KING  ON  THE  TOWER. 

FROM  UHLAND. 

"  Da  liegen  sie  alle,  die  grauen  Hohen." 

The  cold  gray  hills  they  bind  me 
around. 

The  darksome  valleys  lie  sleeping 
below. 

But  the  winds  as  they  pass  o'er  all 
this  ground. 
Bring  me  never  a  sound  of  woe  ! 

Oh  !  for  all  I  have  suffered  and  striven. 
Care  has  embittered  my  cup  and  my 
feast ; 

But  here  is  the  night  and  the  dark 
blue  heaven, 
And  my  soul  shall  be  at  rest. 

0  golden  legends  writ  in  the  skies  ! 
I  turn  towards  you  with  longing 
soul, 

And  list  to  the  awful  hai-monies 
Of  the  Spheres  as  on  they  roll. 

My  hair  is  gray  and  my  sight  nigh 
gone  ; 

My  sword  it  rusteth  upon  the  wall  ; 
Right  have  I  spoken,  and  right  have 
I  done  : 

When  shall  I  rest  me  once  for  all  ? 

0  blessed  rest  !  0  royal  night  ! 

Wherefore  seemeth  tlie  time  so  long 
Till  I  see  yon  stars  in  their  fullest  light, 

And  list  to  their  loudest  song  ? 


ON  A  VERY  OLD  WOMAK. 

LA  MOTTE  FOUQU^. 

"  Und  Du  gingst  einst,  die  Myrt'  im  Haare." 

And  thou  wert  once  a  maiden  fair, 

A  blushing  virgin  warm  and  young  : 
With  myrtles  wreathed  in  golden  hair. 
And  glossy  brow  that  knew  no  care  — 
Upon  a  bridegroom's  arm  you  hung. 

The  golden  locks  are  silvered  now, 

The  blushing  cheek  is  pale  and  wan  ; 
The  spring  may  bloom,  the  autumn 
glow. 

All's  one  —  in  chimney  corner  thou 
Sitt'st  shivering  on.  — 

A  moment  —  and  thou  sink'st  to  rest ! 
To  wake  perhaps  an  angel  blest. 

In  the  bright  presence  of  thy  Lord. 
Oh,  weary  is  life's  path  to  all ! 
Hard  is  the  strife,  and  light  the  fall, 

But  wondrous  the  reward  ! 


A  CREDO. 
I. 

For  the  sole  edification 
Of  this  decent  congregation, 
Goodly  people,  by  your  grant 
I  will  sing  a  holy  chant  — 

I  will  sing  a  holy  chant. 
If  the  ditty  sound  but  oddly, 
'Twas  a  father,  wise  and  godly, 

Sang  it  so  long  ago  — 
Then  sing  as  Martin  Luther  sang, 
As  Doctor  Martin  Luther  sang  : 
'*Who  loves  not  wine,  woman  and 
song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long  !  " 
II. 

He,  by  custom  patriarchal, 
Loved  to  see  the  beaker  sparkle  ; 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved, 
Tasted  by  the  lips  he  loved  — 
By  the  kindly  lips  he  loved. 


FIVE  GERMAN  DITTIES. 


283 


Friends,  I  wish  this  custom  pious 
,Duly  were  observed  by  us, 

To  combine  love,  song,  wine, 
And  sing  as  Martin  Luther  sang. 
As  Doctor  Martin  Luther  sang  : 
**Who  loves  not  wine,  woman  and 
song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long  ! " 
III. 

Who  refuses  this  our  Credo, 
And  who  will  not  sing  as  we  do, 


Were  he  holy  as  John  Knox, 
I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox  ! 

I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox, 
And  from  out  this  congregation. 
With  a  solemn  commination, 

Banish  quick  the  heretic, 
Who  will  not  sing  as  Luther  sang, 
As  Doctor  Martin  Luther  sang : 
"Who  loves  not  wine,  woman  and 
song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long! " 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  B^RANGER. 


LE  ROI  D'YYETOT. 

Il  etait  un  roi  d'Yvetot, 
Peu  connu  dans  I'histoire  ; 

Se  levant  tard,  se  couchant  tot, 
Dormant  fort  bien  sans  gloire, 

Et  couronne  par  Jeanneton 

D'un  simple  bonnet  de  coton, 
Dit-on. 

Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  ! 
ah  ! 

Quel  bon  petit  roi  c'etait  la  ! 
La,  la. 

II  fesait  ses  quatre  repas 

Dans  son  palais  de  chaume, 
Et  sur  un  ane,  pas  a  pas, 

Parcourait  son  royaume. 
Joyeux,  simple  et  croyant  le  bien. 
Pour  toute  garde  il  n'avait  rien 
Qu'un  chien. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  ! 
ah  !  &c. 

11  n'avait  de  gout  ouereux 

Qu'une  soil"  un  peu  vive  ; 
Mais,  en  reudant  son  peu  pie  heureux, 

II  faut  bien  qu'un  roi  vive. 
Lui-meme  k  table,  et  sans  suppot, 
Sur  chaque  nmid  levait  un  pot 
D'impot. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah ! 
ah  !  &c. 

Aux  fdles  de  bonnes  maisons 
Comme  il  avait  su  ])laire, 

Ses  sujets  avaient  cent  raisons 
De  le  nommer  leur  p^re  ; 


D'ailleurs  il  ne  levait  de  ban 
Que  pour  tirer  quatre  fois  Tan 
Au  blanc. 
Oh  !  oh !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  ! 
ah  !  &c. 

II  n'agrandit  point  ses  e'tats, 
Fut  un  voisin  commode, 

Et,  modele  des  potentats, 

Prit  le  plaisir  pour  code. 

Ce  n'est  que  lorsqu'il  expira. 

Que  le  peuple  qui  I'enterra 
Pleura. 

Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  ! 
ah  !  &c. 

On  conserve  encor  le  portrait 
De  ce  digne  et  bon  prince  ; 
C'est  I'enseigne  d'un  cabaret 
Fameux  dans  la  province. 
Les  jours  de  fete,  bien  sou  vent. 
La  foule  s'ecrie  en  buvant 
Devant : 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  ! 
ah  !  &c. 

 ♦  

THE  KING  OF  YVETOT. 

There  was  a  king  of  Yvetot, 

Of  whom  renown  hath  little  said. 
Who  let  all  thoughts  of  glory  go, 

And  dawdled  half  his  days  a-bed  ; 
And  every  night,  as  niglit  came  round, 
By  Jenny,  with  a  nightca})  crowned. 
Slept  very  sound  : 
Sing  ho,  ho,  ho  !  and  he,  he,  he! 
That's  the  kind  of  king  for  me. 


FOUR  IMITATION; 


S  OF  BfiRANGER. 


285 


And  every  day  it  came  to  pass, 

That  four  lusty  meals  made  he  ; 
And,  step  by  step,  upon  an  ass. 

Rode  abroad,  his  realms  to  see  ; 
And  wherever  he  did  stir, 
What  think  you  was  his  escort,  sir  ? 

Why,  an  old  cur. 
Sing  ho,  ho,  ho  !  &c. 

If  e'er  he  went  into  excess, 

'Twas  from  a  somewhat  lively  thirst ; 
But  he  who  would  his  subjects  bless, 

Odd's  fish  !  —  must  wet  his  whistle 
first  ; 

And  so  from  every  cask  they  got. 
Our  king  did  to  himself  allot, 
At  least  a  pot. 
Sing  ho,  ho  !  &c. 

To  all  the  ladies  of  the  land, 

A  courteous  king,  and  kind,  was  he  ; 

The  reason  why  you'll  understand, 
They  named  him  Pater  Patriae. 

Each  year  he  called  his  fighting  men, 

And  marched  a  league  from  home,  and 
then 

Marched  back  again. 
Sing  ho,  ho  !  &c. 

Neither  by  force  nor  false  pretence. 
He  sought  to  make  his  kingdom 
great. 

And   made  (0  princes,  learn  from 
hence),  — 
Live  and  let  live,"  his  rule  of 
state. 

'Twas  only  when  he  came  to  die, 
That  his  people  who  stood  by. 

Were  known  to  cry. 
Sing  ho,  ho  !  &c. 

The  portrait  of  this  best  of  kings 
Is  extant  still,  upon  a  sign 

That  on  a  village  tavern  swings, 
Famed  in  the  country  for  good 
wine. 

The  people  in  their  Sunday  trim. 
Filling  their  glasses  to  the  brim. 
Look  up  to  him, 
Singing  ha,  ha,  ha  !  and  he,  he, 
he  ! 

That's  the  sort  of  king  for  me. 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD. 

ANOTHER  VERSION. 

There  w^as  a  king  in  Brentford,  —  of 

whom  no  legends  tell. 
But  who,  without  his  glory,  — could 

eat  and  sleep  right  well. 
His  Polly's  cotton  nightcap,  —  it  was 

his  crown  of  state, 
He  slept  of  evenings  early,  —  and 

rose  of  mornings  late. 

All  in  a  fine  mud  palace,  —  each  day 

he  took  four  meals, 
And  for  a  guard  of  honor,  —  a  dog 

ran  at  his  heels, 
Sometimes,  to  view  his  kingdoms,  — 

rode  forth  this  monarch  good. 
And  then  a  prancing  jackass  —  he 

royally  bestrode. 

There  were  no  costly  habits  —  with 

which  this  king  w^as  curst. 
Except  (and  where'sthe  harm  on't  ?)  — 

a  somewhat  lively  thirst  ; 
But  people  must  pay  taxes,  —  and 

kings  must  have  their  sport. 
So  out  of  every  gallon —  His  Grace  he 

took  a  quart. 

He  pleased  the  ladies  round  him,  — 

with  manners  soft  and  bland ; 
With  reason  good,  they  nan:»ed  him, 

—  the  father  of  his  land. 
Each    year    his    mighty   armies  — 

marched  forth  in  gallant  show  ; 
Their  enemies  were  targets  —  their 

bullets  they  were  tow. 

He  vexed  no  quiet  neighbor,  —  no 

useless  conquest  made. 
But  by  the  laws  of  pleasure,  —  his 

peaceful  realm  he  swayed. 
And   in   the   years   he    reigned,  — 

through  all  this  country  wide, 
There  was  no  cause  for  weeping,  — 

save  when  the  good  man  died. 

The  faithful  men  of  Brentford, — do 
still  their  king  deplore. 

His  portrait  yet  is  swinging,  —  beside 
an  alehouse  door. 


286 


BALLADS. 


And  topers,  tender-hearted,  —  regard 

his  honest  phiz. 
And    envy    times    departed  —  that 

knew  a  reign  like  his. 


LE  GRENIER. 

Je  viens  revoir  I'asile  oii  ma  jeunesse 
De  la  misere  a  subi  les  le9ons. 
J' avals  vingt  ans,  une  folle  maitresse, 
De  francs  amis  et  I'amour  des  chan- 
sons. 

Bravant  le  monde  et  les  sots  et  les 
sages, 

Sans  avenir,  riche  de  mon  printemps, 
Leste  et  joyeux  je  montais  six  etages, 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a 
vingt  ans. 

C'est  un  grenier,  point  ne  veux  qu'on 
r  ignore. 

La  fut  mon  lit,  bien  chetif  et  bien  dur  ; 
La  fut  ma  table  ;  et  je  retrouve  encore 
Trois  pieds  d'un  vers  charbonnes  sur 
le  mur. 

Apparaissez,  plaisirs  de  mon  bel  age, 
Que  d'un  coup  d'aile  a  fustiges  le 
temps, 

Vingt  fois  pour  vous  j'ai  ma  montre 
en  gage. 

Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 

Lisette  ici  doit  surtout  apparaitre, 
Vive,  jolie,  avec  un  frais  chapeau  ; 
Deja  sa  main  a  I'etroite  fenetre 
Suspend  son  schal,  en  guise  de  rideau. 
Sa  robe  aussi  va  parer  ma  couchette  ; 
Respecte,  Amour,  ses  plis  longs  et  flot- 
tans. 

J'ai  su  depuis  qui  payait  sa  toilette 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 

A  table   un  jour,  jour  de  grande 
richesse, 

De  mes  amis  les  voix  brillaient  en 
chfjeur, 

Quand  jusqu'ici  monte  un  cri  d'alle- 
gresse  ; 

A  Marengo  Bonaparte  est  vainqueur. 


Le  canon  gronde ;  un  autre  chant 

commence ; 
Nous  celebrons  tant  de  faits  eclatans. 
Les    rois    jamais   n'envahiront  la 

France. 

Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 

Quittons  ce  toit  ou  ma  raison  s'enivre. 
Oh  !   qu'ils  sont  loin  ces  jours  si 

regrettes  ! 
J'echangerais  ce  qu'il  me  reste  a  vivre 
Contre  un  des  mois  qu'ici  Dieu  m'a 

comptes. 

Pour  rever  gloire,  amour,  plaisir,  folie, 
Pour  depenser  sa  vie  en  pen  d'instans, 
D'un  long  espoir  pour  la  voir  embellie, 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 

— ♦ — 

THE  GARRET. 

With  pensive  eyes  the  little  room  I 
view, 

Where,  in  my  youth,  I  weathered  it 
so  long  ; 

With  a  wild  mistress,  a  stanch  friend 
or  two. 

And  a  light  heart  still  breaking  into 
song  : 

Making  a  mock  of  life,  and  all  its  cares, 
Rich  in  the  glory  of  my  rising  sun, 

Lightly  I  vaulted  up  four  pair  of  stairs, 
In  the  brave  days  when  I  was 
twenty-one. 

Yes  ;  'tis  a  garret —  let  him  know't 
who  will  — 
There  was  my  bed  —  full  hard  it 
was  and  small  ; 
My  table  there  —  and  I  decipher  still 
Half  a  lame  couplet  charcoaled  on 
the  wall. 

Ye  joys,  that  Time  hath  swept  with 
him  away, 
Come  to  mine  eyes,  ye  dreams  of 
love  and  fun  ; 
For  you  I  pawned  my  watch  how 
many  a  day, 
In  the  brave  days  when   I  was 
twenty-one. 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  BfiRANGER. 


And  see  my  little  Jessy,  first  of 
all; 

She  comes  with  pouting  lips  and 
sparkling  eyes  : 
Behold,  how  roguishly  she  pins  her 
shawl 

Across  the  narrow  casement,  cur- 
tain-wise ; 
Now  by  the  bed  her  petticoat  glides 
down, 

And  when  did  woman  look  the  worse 
in  none  ? 

I  have  heard  since  who  paid  for  many 
a  gown. 

In  the  brave  days  when   I  was 
twenty-one. 


One  jolly  evening,  when  my  friends 
and  I 

Made  happy  music  with  our  songs 
and  cheers, 
A  shout  of  triumph  mounted  up  thus 
high, 

And  distant  cannon  opened  on  our 
ears  : 

"We  rise,  —  we  join  in  the  triumphant 
strain,  — 
Napoleon  conquers  —  Austerlitz  is 
won  — 

Tyrants  shall  never  tread  us  down 
again, 

In  the  brave  days  when   I  was 
twenty-one. 


Let  us  begone  —  the  place  is  sad  and 
strange  — 
How  far,  far  off,  these  happy  times 
appear  ; 

All  that  1  have  to  live  I'd  gladly 
change 

For  one  such   month  as  I  have 

wasted  here  — 
To  draw  long  dreams  of  beauty,  love, 

and  power. 
From  founts  of  hope  that  never  will 

outrun. 

And  drink  all  life's  quintessence  in  an 
hour, 

Give  me  the  days  when  I  was 
twenty-one  ! 


ROGER-BONTEMPS. 

Aux  gens  atrabil aires 
Pour  exemple  donne, 
En  un  temps  de  miseres 
Roger- Bontemps  est  ne. 
Vivre  obscur  a  sa  guise, 
Narguer  les  mecontens  ; 
Eh  gai  !  c'est  la  devise 
Du  gros  Roger- Bontemps. 

Du  chapeau  de  son  pere 
CoifTe  dans  les  grands  jours, 
De  roses  ou  de  lierre 
Le  rajeunir  toujours  ; 
Mettre  un  manteau  de  bure, 
Vieil  ami  de  vingt  ans  ; 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  parure 
Du  gros  Roger- Bontemps. 

Posseder  dans  sa  hutte 
Une  table,  un  vieux  lit, 
Des  cartes,  une  flute, 
Un  broc  que  Dieu  remplit ; 
Un  portrait  de  maitresse, 
Un  coffre  et  rien  dedans  ; 
Eh  gai  !  c'est  la  richesse 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Aux  enfans  de  la  villa 
Montrer  de  petits  jeux  ; 
Etre  fesseur  habile 
De  contes  graveleux  ; 
Ne  parler  que  de  danse 
Et  d'almanachs  cliantans  : 
Eh  gai  !  c'est  la  science 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Faute  de  vins  d'elite, 
Sabler  ceux  du  canton: 
Preferer  Marguerite 
Aux  dames  du  grand  ton: 
De  joie  et  de  tendresse 
Remplir  tons  ses  instans : 
Eh  gai  !  c'est  la  sagesse 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Dire  au  ciel :  Je  me  fie, 
Mon  pere ,  a  ta  bonte  ; 
De  ma  philosophie 
Pardonne  le  gaite  * 


288 


BALLADS. 


Que  ma  saison  derniere 
Soit  encore  un  printemps  ; 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  priere 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Vous  pauvres  pleins  d'envie, 
Vous  riches  desireux, 
Vous,  dont  le  char  devie 
Apres  un  cours  heureux; 
Vous  qui  perdrez  peut-etre 
Des  titres  eclatans, 
Eh  gai  !  prenez  pour  maitre 
Le  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 


JOLLY  JACK. 

When  fierce  political  debate 

Throughout  the  isle  was  storming, 
And  Rads  attacked  the  throne  and 
state, 

And  Tories  the  reforming, 
To  calm  the  furious  rage  of  each, 

And  right  the  land  demented. 
Heaven  sent  us  Jolly  Jack,  to  teach 

The  way  to  be  contented. 

Jack's  bed  was  straw,  'twas  warm  and 
soft. 

His  chair,  a  three-legged  stool  ; 
His  broken  jug  was  emptied  oft, 

Yet,  somehow,  alwa^^s  full. 
His  mistress'  portrait  decked  the  wall. 

His  mirror  had  a  crack; 
Yet,  gay  and  glad,  though  this  was  all 

His  wealth,  lived  Jolly  Jack. 

To  give  advice  to  avarice, 

Teach  pride  its  mean  condition, 
And  preach  good  sense  to  dull  pre- 
tence, 

Was  honest  Jack's  high  mission. 
Our  simple  statesman  found  his  rule 

Of  moral  in  the  flagon. 
And  held  his  philosophic  school 

Beneath  the  "  George  and  Dragon." 


When  village  Solons  cursed  the  Lords, 

And  called  the  malt-tax  sinful, 
Jack  heeded  not  their  angry  words, 

But  smiled  and  drank  his  skinful. 
And  when  men  w^asted  health  and  life, 

In  search  of  rank  and  riches, 
Jack  marked  aloof  the  paltry  strife, 

And  wore  his  threadbare  breeches. 

"  I  enter  not  the  church,"  he  said, 

"  But  I'll  not  seek  to  rob  it ;  " 
So  worthy  Jack  Joe  Miller  read, 

While  others  studied  Cobbett. 
His  talk  it  w^as  of  feast  and  fun  ; 

His  guide  the  Almanack  ; 
From  youth  to  age  thus  gayly  run 

The  life  of  Jolly  Jack. 

And  when  Jack  prayed,  as  oft  he 
would, 

He  humbly  thanked  his  Maker  ; 
"I  am,"  said  he,  "0  Father  good  ! 

Nor  Catholic  nor  Quaker: 
Give  each  his  creed,  let  each  proclaim 

His  catalogue  of  curses  ; 
I  trust  in  Thee,  and  not  in  them, 

In  Thee,  and  in  Thy  mercies  ! 

''Forgive  me  if,  midst  all  Thy  works. 

No  hint  I  see  of  damning  ; 
And  think  there's  faith  among  the 
Turks, 

And  hope  for  e'en  the  Brahmin. 
Harmless  my  mind  is,  and  my  mirth. 

And  kindly  is  my  laughter  : 
I  cannot  see  the  smiling  earth. 

And  think  there's  hell  hereafter." 

Jack  died  ;  he  left  no  legacy, 

Save  that  his  story  teaches  :  — 
Content  to  peevish  poverty  ; 

Humility  to  riches. 
Ye  scornful  great,  ye  envious  small. 

Come  follow  in  his  track  ; 
We  all  were  happier,  if  we  all 

Would  copy  Jolly  Jack. 


IMITATION  OF  HOEACE. 


• 


TO  HIS  SERVING  BOY. 

Persicos  odi 
Puer,  apparatus  ; 
Displiceiit  nexje 
Philyra  coronae  : 
Mitte  sectari, 
Rosa  quo  locorum 
Sera  moretur. 

Siniplici  myrto 
Nihil  allabores 
Sedulus,  euro  : 
Neque  te  niinistrum 
Dedecet  myrtus, 
Neque  me  sub  arct§, 
Vite  bibentem. 


AD  MINISTRAM.. 

Dear  Lucy,  you  know  what  my  wish 
is, — 

I  hate  all  your  Frenchified  fuss  : 
Your  silly  entrees  and  made  dishes 

Were  never  intended  for  us. 
No  footman  in  lace  and  in  ruffles 

Need  dangle  behind  my  arm-chair  ; 
And  never  mind  seeking  for  truffles, 

Although  they  be  ever  so  rare. 

But  a  plain  leg  of  mutton,  my  Lucy, 

I  prithee  get  ready  at  three  : 
Have  it  smoking,  and  tender  and  juicy. 

And  what  better  meat  can  there  be  ? 
And  when  it  has  feasted  the  master, 

'Twill  amply  suffice  for  the  maid  ; 
Meanwhile  I  will  smoke  my  canaster, 

And  tipple  my  ale  in  the  shade. 


19 


OLD  FKIENDS  WITH  NEW  FACES. 


THE  KNIGHTLY  GUEKDON  * 

Untrue  to  my  Ulric  I  never  could  be, 
I  vow  by  the  saints  and  the  blessed 
Marie, 

Since  the  desolate  hour  when  we  stood 

by  the  shore. 
And  your  dark  galley  waited  to  carry 

you  o'er  : 

My  faith  then  I  plighted,  my  love  I 
confess'd, 

As  I  gave  you  the  Battle-Axe 
marked  with  your  crest  ! 

*  "  WAPPING  OLD  STAIRS. 

"  Your  Molly  has  never  been  false,  she  de- 
clares, 

Since  the  last  time  we  parted  at  Wapping 
Old  Stairs ; 

When  I  said  that  I  would  continue  the  same, 
And  I  gave  you  the  'bacco-box  marked  with 
my  name. 

When  I  passed  a  whole  fortnight  between 

decks  with  you, 
Did  I  e'er  give  a  kiss,  Tom,  to  one  of  your 

crew  ? 

To  be  useful  and  kind  to  my  Thomas  I 
stay'd. 

For  his  trousers  I  washed,  and  his  grog  too 
I  made. 

'  Though  you  promised  last  Sunday  to  walk 
in  the  Mall 

With  Susan  from  Deptford  and  likewise  with 
Sail, 

In  silence  I  stood  your  unkindness  to  hear, 
And  only  upbraided  my  Tom  with  a  tear. 
Why  should  Sail,  or  should  Susan,  than  me 

be  more  prized? 
For  the  heart  that  is  true,  Tom,  should 

ne'er  be  despised  ; 
Then  be  constant  and  kind,  nor  your  Molly 

forsake, 

Still  your  trousers  I'll  wash  and  your  grog 
too  I'll  make." 


When  the  bold  barons  met  in  my 
father's  old  hall, 

Was  not  Edith  the  flower  of  the  ban- 
quet and  ball  ? 

In  the  festival  hour,  on  the  lips  of 
your  bride, 

Was  there  ever  a  smile  save  with 
Thee  at  my  side  ? 

Alone  in  my  turret  I  loved  to  sit  best, 

To  blazon  your  Banner  and  broider 
your  crest. 

The  knights  were  assembled,  the 
tourney  was  gay  ! 

Sir  Ulric  rode  first  in  the  warrior- 
melee. 

In  the  dire  battle-hour,  when  the 

tourney  was  done. 
And  you  gave  to  another  the  wreath 

you  had  won  ! 
Though  I  never  reproached  thee,  cold, 

cold  was  ray  breast, 
As  I  thought  of  that  Battle-axe, 

ah  !  and  that  crest  ! 


But  away  with  remembrance,  no  more 

will  I  pine 
That  others  usurped  for  a  time  what 

was  mine  ! 
There's  a  Festival  Hour  for  my 

Ulric  and  me  : 
Once  more,  as  of  old,  shall  he  bend  at 

my  knee  ; 
Once  more  by  the  side  of  the  knight 

I  love  best 
Shall  I  blazon  his  Banner  and  broider 

his  crest. 


OLD  FRIENDS  W 


iTH  np:w  faces. 


291 


THE  ALMACK'S  ADIEU. 

Your  Fanny  was  never  false-hearted, 
And  this  she  protests  and  she  vows, 

From  the  triste  )iLom.cnt  when  we  parted 
On  the  staircase  of  Devonshire 
House  ! 

I  blushed  when  you  asked  me  to  marry, 
I  vowed  I  would  never  forget  ; 

And  at  parting  I  gave  my  dear  Harry 
A  beautiful  vinegarette  ! 

We  spent  en  province  all  December, 
And  I  ne'er  condescended  to  look 
At  Sir  Chai-les,  or  the  rich  county 
member, 

Or  even  at  that  darling  old  Duke. 
You  were  busy  with  dogs  and  with 
horses, 

Alone  in  my  chamber  I  sat. 
And  made  you  the  nicest  of  purses. 
And  the  smartest  black  satin  cravat ! 

At  night  with  that  vile  Lady  Frances 

{Je  faisois  moi  tapisserie) 
You  danced  every  one  of  the  dances. 

And  never  once  thought  of  poor  me  ! 
Mon  pativre  petit  coeur  !  what  a  shiver 

I  felt  as  she  danced  the  last  set  ; 
And  you  gave,  0  mon  Dieu  !  to  revive 
her 

My  beautiful  vinegarette  ! 

Return,  love  !  away  with  coquetting  ; 

This  flirting  disgraces  a  man  ! 
And  ah  !  all  the  while  you're  forget- 
ting 

The  heart  of  your  poor  little  Fan  ! 
Reviens !  break  away    from  those 
Circes, 

Reviens,  for  a  nice  little  chat  ; 
And  I've  made  you  the  sweetest  of 
purses, 

And  a  lovely  black  satin  cravat  ! 
» 

WHEN  THE  GLOOM  IS  ON  THE 
GLEN. 

When  the  moonlight's  on  the  moun- 
tain 

And  the  gloom  is  on  the  glen. 
At  the  cross  beside  the  fountain 


There  is  one  will  meet  thee  then. 
At  the  cross  beside  the  fountain  ; 

Yes,  the  cross  beside  the  fountain, 
There  is  one  will  meet  tliee  then  ! 

I  have  braved,  since  first  we  met,  love. 

Many  a  danger  in  my  course  ; 
But  I  never  can  forget,  love, 

That  dear  fountain,  that  old  cross. 
Where,  her  mantle  shrouded  o'er  her — 

For  the  winds  were  chilly  then  — 
First  I  met  my  Leonora, 

When  the  gloom  was  on  the  glen. 

Many  a  clime  I've  ranged  since  then, 
love. 

Many  a  land  I've  wandered  o'er  ; 
But  a  valley  like  that  glen,  love. 

Half  so  dear  I  never  sor  ! 
Ne'er  saw  maiden  fairer,  coyer, 

Than  wert  thou,  my  true  love,  when 
In  the  gloaming  first  I  saw  yer, 

In  the  gloaming  of  the  glen  ! 

 ♦ — 

THE  RED  FLAG. 

Where  the  quivering  lightning  flings 

His  arrows  from  out  the  clouds. 
And  the  howling  tempest  sings 

And  whistles  among  the  shrouds, 
'Tis  pleasant,  'tis  pleasant  to  ride 

Along  the  foaming  brine  — 
Wilt  be  the  Rover's  bride  ? 

Wilt  follow  him,  lady  mine  ? 

Hurrah  ! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  brine. 

Amidst  the  storm  and  rack, 

You  shall  see  our  galley  pass. 
As  a  serpent,  lithe  and  black, 

Glides  through  the  waving  grass. 
As  the  vulture  swift  and  dark, 

Down  on  the  ring-dove  flies. 
You  shall  see  the  Rover's  bark 

Swoop  down  upon  his  prize. 

Hurrah  ! 

For  the  bonny,  bonny  prize. 

Over  her  sides  we  dash, 

We  gallop  across  her  deck  — 

Ha  !  there's  a  ghastly  gash 

On  the  merchant-captain's  neck  — ^ 


292 


BALLADS. 


Well  shot,  well  shot,  old  Ned  ! 

Well   struck,  well  struck,  black 
James  ! 

Our  arms  are  red,  and  our  foes  are  dead, 
And  we  leave  a  ship  in  flames  ! 

Hurrah  ! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  flames  ! 

 • — 

DEAR  JACK. 

Dear  Jack,  this  white  mug  that  with 

Guinness  I  fill, 
And  drink  to  the  health  of  sweet  Nan 

of  the  Hill, 
Was  once  Tommy  Tosspot's,  as  jovial 

a  sot 

As  e'er  drew  a  spigot,  or  drain'd  a  full 
pot  — 

In  drinking  all  round  'twas  his  joy  to 
surpass, 

And  with  all  merry  tipplers  he  swigg'd 
olf  his  glass. 

One  morning  in  summer,  while  seated 
so  snug. 

In  the  poi  ch  of  his  garden,  discussing 
his  jug. 

Stern  Death,  on  a  sudden,  to  Tom  did 
appear. 

And  said,  ' '  Honest  Thomas,  come  take 

your  last  bier." 
We  kneaded  his  clay  in  the  shape  of 

this  can, 

From  which  let  us  drink  to  the  health 
of  my  Nan. 


COMMANDERS  OF  THE  FAITH- 
FUL. 

The  Pope  he  is  a  happy  man. 

His  Palace  is  the  Vatican, 

And  there  he  sits  and  drains  his  can  : 

The  Pope  he  is  a  liappy  man. 

T  often  say  when  I'm  at  home, 

I'd  like  to  be  the  Pope  of  Rome. 

And  then  there's  Sultan  Saladin, 
That  Turkish  Soldan  full  of  sin  ; 
He  has  a  hundred  wives  at  least, 
l>y  which  his  pleasure  is  increased  : 


I've  often  wished,  I  hope  no  sin, 
That  I  were  Sultan  Saladin. 

But  no,  the  Pope  no  wife  may  choose, 
And  so  I  would  not  wear  his  shoes ; 
No  wine  may  drink  the  proud  Paynim, 
And  so  I'd  rather  not  be  him  : 
My  wife,  my  wine,  I  love,  I  hope, 
And  would  be  neither  Turk  nor  Pope. 


WHEN    MOONLIKE    ORE  THE 
HAZURE  SEAS. 

When  moonlike  ore  the  hazure  seas 

In  soft  eftulgence  swells. 
When  silver  jews  and  balmy  breaze 

Bend  down  the  Lily's  bells  ; 
When  calm  and  deap,  the  rosy  sleap 

Has  lapt  your  soal  in  dreems, 
R  Hangeline  !  R  lady  mine  ! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames  ? 

I  mark  thee  in  the  Marble  All, 

Where  England's  loveliest  shine  — 
I  say  the  fairest  of  them  hall 

Is  Lady  Hangeline. 
My  soul,  in  desolate  eclipse. 

With  recollection  teems  — 
And  then  I  hask,  with  weeping  lips, 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames  ? 

Away  !  I  may  not  tell  thee  hall 

This  soughring  heart  endures  — 
There  is  a  lonely  sperrit-call 

That  Sorrow  never  cures  ; 
There  is  a  little,  little  Star, 

That  still  above  me  beams  ; 
It  is  the  Star  of  Hope  —  but  ar  ! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames  ? 


KING  CANUTE. 

King  Canute  was  weary  hearted  ;  he 
had  reigned  for  years  a  score. 

Battling,  struggling,  pushing,  fight- 
ing, killing  much  and  robbing 
more  ; 

And  he  thought  upon  his  actions, 
walking  by  the  wild  sea-shore. 


OLD  FRIENDS  WITH  NEW  FACES.  293 


'Twixt  the  Chancellor  and  Bishop 
walked  the  King  with  steps  se- 
date, 

Chamberlains  and  grooms  came  after, 
silveisticks  and  goldsticks  great. 

Chaplains,  aides-de-camp,  and  pages, 
—  all  the  officers  of  state. 

Sliding  after  like  his  shadow,  pausing 
when  he  chose  to  pause. 

If  a  frown  his  face  contracted,  straight 
the  courtiers  dropped  their  jaws  ; 

If  to  laugh  the  king  was  minded,  out 
they  burst  in  loud  hee-haws. 

But  that  day  a  something  vexed  him, 

that  was  clear  to  old  and  young  : 
Thrice  his  Grace  had  yawned  at  table, 

when  his  favorite  gleemen  sung. 
Once  the  Queen  would  have  consoled 

him,  but  he  bade  her  hold  her 

tongue. 

Something  ails  my  gracious  master," 
cried  the  Keeper  of  the  Seal. 

*'Sure,  my  lord,  it  is  the  lampreys 
served  to  dinner,  or  the  veal  ?" 

"  Psha  ! "  exclaimed  the  angry  mon- 
arch, **  Keeper,  'tis  not  that  I 
feel. 

'Tis  the  hearty  and  not  the  dinner, 

fool,  that  doth  my  rest  impair  : 
Can  a  king  be  great  as  I  am,  prithee, 

and  yet  know  no  care  ? 
Oh,  I'm  sick,  and  tired,  and  weary."  — 

Some   one  cried,  *'The  King's 

arm-chair  ! " 

Then  towards  the  lackeys  turning, 

quick  my  Lord  the  Keeper  nodded, 
Straight  the  King's  great  chair  was 

brought  him,  by  two  footmen 

able-bodied  ; 
Languidly  he  sank  into  it  :  it  was 

comfortably  wadded. 

**  Leading  on  my  fierce  companions," 
cried  he,     over  storm  and  brine, 
I  have  fought  and  I  have  conquered  ! 
Where  was  glory  like  to  mine  ? " 
,     Loudly   all    the   courtiers   echoed  : 
*' Where  is  glory  like  to  thine  ?  " 


"What  avail  me  all  my  kingdoms? 
Weary  am  I  now  and  old  ; 

Those  fair  sons  I  have  begotten,  long 
to  see  me  dead  and  cold  ; 

Would  I  were,  and  (juiet  buried,  un- 
derneath the  silent  mould  ! 

"  Oh,  remorse,  the  writhing  serpent ! 

at  my  bosom  tears  and  bites  ; 
Horrid,   horrid   things   I    look  on, 

though  1  put  out  all  the  lights  ; 
Ghosts  of  ghastly  recollections  troop 

about  my  bed  at  nights. 

"  Cities  burning,  convents  blazing,  red 

with  sacrilegious  fires  ; 
Mothers  weeping,  virgins  screaming  : 

vainly     for    their  slaughtered 

sires."  — 

**Such  a  tender  conscience,"  cries  the 
Bishop,     every  one  admires. 

**But  for  such  unpleasant  bygones, 
cease,  my  gracious  lord,  to  search. 

They're  forgotten  and  forgiven  by  our 
Holy  Mother  Church  ; 

Never,  never  does  she  leave  her  bene' 
factors  in  the  lurch. 

"  Look  !  the  land  is  crowned  with 

minsters,    which   your  Grace's 

bounty  raised  ; 
Abbeys  filled  with  holy  men,  where 

you    and    Heaven    are  daily 

praised  : 

You,  my  lord,  to  think  of  dying  ?  on 
my  conscience  I'm  amazed  !  " 

*'Nay,  I  feel,"  replied  King  Canute, 
that  "  my  end  is  drawing  near." 

"  Don't  say  so,"  exclaimed  the  court- 
iers (striving  each  to  squeeze  a 
tear). 

Sure  your  Grace  is  strong  and  lusty, 
and  may  live  this  fifty  year." 

"  Live  these  fifty  years  !  "  the  Bishop 
roared,  with  actions  made  to  suit. 

**  Are  you  mad,  my  good  Lord  Keeper, 
thus  to  speak  of  King  Canute  ! 

Men  have  lived  a  thousand  years,  and 
sure  his  Majesty  will  do't. 


294 


BALLADS. 


"Adam,    Enoch,   Lamech,  Cainan, 

Mahaleel,  Methusela, 
Lived  nine  hundred  years  apiece,  and 

mayn't  the   King  as   well  as 

they  ?" 

Fervently,"  exclaimed  the  Keeper, 
fervently  I  trust  he  may. " 

"  ZTe  to  die  ? "  resumed  the  Bishop. 

"  He  a  mortal  like  to  us  ? 
Death  was  not  for  him  intended, 

though  communis  omnibus : 
Keeper,  you  are  irreligious,  for  to  talk 

and  cavil  thus. 

' '  With  his  wondrous  skill  in  healing 
ne'er  a  doctor  can  compete. 

Loathsome  lepers,  if  he  touch  them, 
start  up  clean  upon  their  feet  ; 

Surely  he  could  raise  the  dead  up,  did 
his  Highness  think  it  meet. 

"  Did  not  once  the  Jewish  captain 
stay  the  sun  upon  the  hill, 

And,  the  while  he  slew  the  foemen, 
bid  the  silver  moon  stand  still  ? 

So,  no  doubt,  could  gracious  Canute, 
if  it  were  his  sacred  will." 


"  Might  I  stay  the  sun  above  us,  good 
Sir  Bishop  ? "  Canute  cried  ; 

"  Could  I  bid  the  silver  moon  to  pause 
upon  her  heavenly  ride  ? 

If  the  moon  obeys  my  orders,  sure  I 
can  command  the  tide. 

"  Will  the  advancing  waves  obey  me, 
Bishop,  if  I  make  the  sign  ?  " 

Said  the  Bishop,  bowing  lowly,  "Land 
and  sea,  my  lord,  are  thine." 

Canute  turned  towards  tlie  ocean  — 
**Back  !  "  he  said,  **thou  foam- 
ing brine. 

**  From  the  sacred  shore  T  stand  on,  I 
command  thee  to  retreat  ; 

Venture  not,  thou  stormy  rebel,  to 
approach  tliy  master's  seat  : 

Ocean,  be  thou  still  !  I  l)id  thee  come 
not  nearer  to  my  feet  ! " 


But  the  sullen  ocean  answered  with  a 

louder,  deeper  roar, 
And  the  rapid  waves  drew  nearer, 

falling  sounding  on  the  shore  ; 
Back  the  Keeper  and  the  Bishop,  back 

the  king  and  courtiers  bore. 


And  he  sternly  bade  them  never  more 
to  kneel  to  human  clay. 

But  alone  to  praise  and  worship  That 
which  earth  and  seas  obey  : 

And  his  golden  crown  of  empire  never 
wore  he  from  that  day. 

King  Canute  is  dead  and  gone  :  Para- 
sites exist  alway. 


FRIAR'S  SONG. 

Some  love  the  matin-chimes,  which 
tell 

The  hour  of  prayer  to  sinner  : 
But  better  far's  the  mid-day  bell, 

Which  speaks  the  hour  of  dinner  ; 
For  when  I  see  a  smoking  fish, 

Or  capon  drown' d  in  gravy, 
Or  noble  haunch  on  silver  dish, 

Full  glad  1  sing  my  ave. 


My  pulpit  is  an  alehouse  bench, 

AVhereon  I  sit  so  jolly  ; 
A  smiling  rosy  country  wench 

My  saint  and  patron  holy. 
I  kiss  her  cheek  so  red  and  sleek, 

I  press  her  ringlets  wavy. 
And  in  her  willing  ear  I  speak 

A  most  religious  ave. 


And  if  I'm  blind,  yet  heaven  is  kind. 

And  lioly  saints  forgiving  ; 
For  sure  he  leads  a  right  good  life 

Who  thus  admires  good  living. 
Above,  they  say,  our  tlesh  is  air, 

Our  blood  cAestial  ichor  : 
Oh,  grant !  mid  all  the  changes  there, 

Tliey  may  not  change  our  liquor  ! 


OLB  FRIENDS  WITH  NEW  FACES.  295 


ATRA  CURA. 

Before  I  lost  my  five  poor  wits, 
I  mind  me  of  a  Romish  clerk, 
Who  sang  how  Care,  the  phantom 
dark, 

Beside  tlie  belted  horseman  sits. 
Methought  I  saw  the  grisly  sprite 
Jump  up  but  now  behind  my  Knight. 

And  though  he  gallop  as  he  may, 
I  mark  that  cursed  monster  black 
Still  sits  behind  his  honor's  back,' 
Tight  squeezing  of  his  heart  alway. 
Like  two  black  Templars  sit  they 
there, 

Beside  one  crupper,  Knight  and  Care. 

No  knight  am  I  with  pennoned  spear. 
To  prance  upon  a  bold  destrere  : 
I  will  not  have  black  Care  prevail 
Upon  my  long-eared  charger's  tail. 
For  lo,  I  am  a  witless  fool. 
And  laugh  at  Grief  and  ride  a  mule. 


REQUIESCAT. 

Under  the  stone  you  behold, 
Buried,  and  coffined,  and  cold, 
Lieth  Sir  Wilfrid  the  Bold. 

Always  he  marched  in  advance. 
Warring  in  Flanders  and  France, 
Doughty  with  sword  and  with  lance. 

Famous  in  Saracen  fight, 

Rode  in  his  youth  the  good  knight, 

Scattering  Paynims  in  flight. 

Brian  the  Templar  untrue, 
Fairly  in  tourney  he  slew, 
Saw  Hierusalem  too. 

Now  he  is  buried  and  gone, 
Lying  beneath  the  gray  stone  : 
Where  shall  you  find  such  a  one  ? 


Long  time  his  widow  deplored. 
Weeping  the  fate  of  her  lord, 
Sadly  cut  off  by  the  sword. 

When  she  was  eased  of  her  pain, 
Came  the  good  Lord  Atlielstane, 
When  her  ladyship  married  again. 


LINES  UPON  MY  SISTER'S  POR- 
TRAIT. 

BY  THE  LORD  SOUTHDOWN. 

The  castle  towers  of  Bareacres  are  fair 

upon  the  lea, 
Where  the  cliffs  of  bonny  Diddlesex 

rise  up  from  out  the  sea  : 
I  stood  upon  the  donjon  keep  and 

view'd  the  country  o'er, 
I  saw  the  lands  of  Bareacres  for  fifty 

miles  or  more. 
I  stood  upon  the  donjon  keep —  it  is 

a  sacred  place,  — 
Where  floated  for  eight  hundred  years 

the  banner  of  my  race  ; 
Argent,  a  dexter  sinople,  and  gules  an 

azure  field  : 
There  ne'er  was  nobler  cognizance  on 

knightly  warrior's  shield. 

The  first  time  England  saw  the  shield 
'twas  round  a  Norman  neck. 

On  board  a  ship  from  Valery,  King 
William  was  on  deck. 

A  Norman  lance  the  colors  wore,  in 
Hastings'  fatal  fray  — 

St.  AVillibald  for  Bareacres !  'twas 
double  gules  that  day  ! 

0  Heaven  and  sweet  St.  Willibald  ! 
in  many  a  battle  since 

A  loyal -hearted  Bareacres  has  ridden 
by  his  Prince  ! 

At  Acre  with  Plantagenet,  with  Ed- 
ward at  Poictiers, 

The  pennon  of  the  Bareacres  was  fore- 
most on  the  spears  ! 

'Twas  pleasant  in  the  battle-shock  to 
hear  our  war-cry  ringing  : 

Oh  grant  me,  sweet  St.  Willibald,  to 
listen  to  such  singing  ! 


296 


BALLADS. 


Three  hundred  steel-clad  gentlemen, 
we  drove  the  foe  before  us, 

And  thirty  score  of  British  bows  kept 
twanging  to  the  chorus  ! 

0  knights,  my  noble  ancestors  !  and 
shall  I  never  hear 

St.  Willibald  for  Bareacres  through 
battle  ringing  clear  ? 

I'd  cut  me  off  this  strong  right  hand 
a  single  hour  to  ride, 

And  strike  a  blow  for  Bareacres,  my 
fathers,  at  your  side  ! 

Dash  down,  dash  down,  yon  Mando- 
lin, beloved  sister  mine  ! 


Those  blushing  lips  may  never  sing 
the  glories  of  our  line  : 

Our  ancient  castles  echo  to  the  clumsy 
feet  of  churls, 

The  spinning-jenny  houses  in  the 
mansion  of  our  Earls. 

Sing  not,  sing  not,  my  Angel ine  !  in 
days  so  base  and  vile, 

'Twere  sinful  to  be  happy,  'twere  sac- 
rilege to  smile. 

I'll  hie  me  to  my  lonely  hall,  and  by 
its  cheerless  hob 

I'll  muse  on  other  days,  and  wish  — 
and  wish  1  were  —  A  Snob. 


THE 

LEGEND  OF  ST.  SOPHIA  OF  KIOFF. 


AN  EPIC  POEM,  IN  TWENTY  BOOKS. 


dilcrTbes         THOUSAND  years  ago,  or 

the  city  and  more, 

ffo'IiricToff,     A  city  filled  with  burghers 

or  Kiova.  StOUt, 

And  girt  with  ramparts  round  about, 
Stood  on  the  rocky  Dnieper  shoi'e. 
I  n  armor  bright,  by  day  and  night, 

The  sentries  they  paced  to  and  fro. 
Well  guarded  and  walled  was  this 
town,  and  called 
By  different  names,  I'd  have  you  to 
know  ; 

For  if  you  looks  in  the  g'ography 
books, 

In  those  dictionaries   the   name  it 
varies, 

ind  they  write  it  off  Kieff  or  Kioff, 
Kiova  or  Kiow. 


II. 

inls^futiic  Thus  guarded  without  by 
wall  and  redoubt, 
'iova  within 
civ'^-  of  renown. 

With  more  advantages  than  in  those 
dark  ages 
Were  commonly  known  to  belong 
to  a  town. 
There  were  places  and  squares,  and 

each  year  four  fairs. 
And  regular  aldermen   and  regular 

lord -mayors  ; 
And  streets,  and  alleys,  and  a  bishop's 
palace  ; 

And  a  church  with  clocks  for  the  or- 
thodox — 


With  clocks  and  with  spires,  as  re- 
ligion desires  ; 

And  beadles  to  whip  the  bad  little 
boys 

Over  their  poor  little  corduroys. 

In   service-time,  when   they  didn't 

make  a  noise  ; 
x\nd   a   chapter   and   dean,    and  a 

cathedral -green 
With  ancient  trees,  underneath  whose 

shades 

Wandered  nice  young  nursery-maids. 
Ding-dong,   ding-dong,  ding-ding-a- 

ring-ding. 
The  bells  they  made  a  merry  merry 

ring, 

From  the  tall  tall  steeple  ;  and  all  the 
people 

(Except  the  Jews)  came  and  filled  the 
pews  — 

Poles,  Russians  and  Ger-  J^^^^^P^f^*^  ^ 

mans,  certain 

To  hear  the  sermons  Kioffra^' 
Which  Hyacinth  preached  go^iy 

to  those  Germans  and  and?[i'e  that 

Pf.lpt,  preached 
rUiCb,  ^     rare  good 

i^or  the  safety  of  their  semions. 
souls. 


III. 

A  worthy  priest  he  was  and  How  this 

^  r.^^   i-  priest  was 

a  stout  —  ^hort  and 

You've  seldom  looked  on  fat  of  body 
such  a  one  ; 
For,  though  he  fasted  thrice  in  a  week, 
Yet  nevertheless  his  skin  was  sleek  ; 
His  waist  it  spanned  two  yards  about 

And  he  weighed  a  score  of  stone. 


298 


BALLADS. 


IV. 

umo  th?         worthy  priest  for  fasting 

author  of  ^  and.  pi'ayer 

L.rtte"s!'^'^      And  mortification  most 

deserving  ; 
And  as  for  preaching  beyond  compare, 
He'd  exert  his  powers  for  three  or  four 
hours, 

With  greater  pith  than  Sydney  Smith 
Or  the  E,everend  Edward  Irving. 


?JnTh^ He  was  the  prior  of  Saint 

vent  he  was  ^      -  .  -t 

prior,  and  Sophia 

vintwL''^""  (A  Cockney  rhyme,  but  no 
built.  better  I  know)  — 

Of  St.  Sophia,  that  Church  in  Kiow, 
Built  by  missionaries  I  can't  tell 
when  ; 

Who  by  their  discussions  converted 
the  Russians, 
And  made  them  Christian  men. 


VI. 


legend  vows) 


Sophia  of 
Kioff ;  and 

uaTue  mi-  With  Special  favor  did  re- 
t^aviued^  gard  this  house  ; 

tSt^her!  And  to  uphold  her  con- 

verts' new  devotion 
Her  statue  (needing  but  her  legs  for 
her  ship) 

Walks  of  itself  across  the  German 
Ocean  ; 
And  of  a  sudden  perches 
In  this  the  best  of  churches, 
Whither  all  Kiovites  come  and  pay  it 
grateful  worship. 


VII. 

{^'^V'T  1^  Thus  with  her  patron-saints 

Kioff  should  ,      .         t  , 

have  been  Ulld  ])10US  prcachcrS 

cit'jfr'bit  K(M,H>rded  here  in  cata- 
that  logue  pn'cise, 

A  goodly  city,  worthy  mngistrates. 
You  would  have  thought  in  all  the 

Russian  states 
The  citizens  the  happiest  of  all  crea- 
tures, — 

The  town  itself  a  perfect  Paradise. 


VIII. 

No,  alas  !  this  well-built  city  Cenain 

Was  in  a  perpetual  fidget ;  rackldid""" 
For  the   Tartars,  without  besiege  it, 
pity, 

Did  remorselessly  besiege  it. 

Tartars  fierce,  with  sword  and  sabres, 
Huns  and  Turks,  and  such  as  these. 

Envied  much  their  peaceful  neighbors 
By  the  blue  Borysthenes. 

Down  they  came,  these  ruth-  Murdering 

less  Russians,  ^he  citizens. 

From -their  steppes,  and  woods,  and 
fens. 

For  to  levy  contributions 
On  the  peaceful  citizens. 

Winter,  Summer,  Spring,  and  Au- 
tumn, 

Down  they  came  to  peaceful  Kioff, 
Killed  the  burghers  when  they  caught 
'em, 

If  their  lives  they  would^not  buy  ofif. 
Till  the  city,   quite  con-  Until  they 

founded  a^rreed  to 

lULllJueu  pay  a  tribute 

By  the  ravages  they  made,  yearly. 
Humbly  with  their  chief  compounded, 
And  a  yearly  tribute  paid. 

Which  (because  their  cour-  p^^yfJiy 

age  lax  was)  tribute,  and 

They   discharged   while  JenV "e-" 
they  were  able  :         fused  it, 
Tolerated  thus  the  tax  was, 
Till  it  grew  intolerable, 

And  the  Calmuc  envoy  sent.  To  the  won- 
As  before  to  take  their  ^^L^k^ 

dues  all,  envoy. 

Got,  to  his  astonishment, 
A  unanimous  refusal ! 


Men  of  Kiofi' !  "  thus  cour-  ^^'if^l^J^'^'y 

ageOUS  speech 

Did  the  stout  lord-mayor  harangue 
them, 

"  Wherefore  pay  these  sneaking  wages 
To  the  hectoring  Russians  ?  hang 
them  ! 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  SOPHIA  OF  KIOFF.  299 


about  drill- 
ing. 


Thatthft         Hark  !    I  hear  the  awful 

lord- mayor  »  , 

made,  Cry  Of 

Our  forefathers  in  their  graves  ; 
*  Fight,  ye  citizens  of  Kioff  ! 
Kiolf  was  not  made  for  slaves.' 

Exhorting     "  All  too  loug  have  yc  be- 
the^burghers        trayed  her  ; 
longer.        Rouse,  ye  men  and  alder- 
men, 

Send  the  insolent  invader  — 
Send  him  starving  back  again." 

IX. 

Of  their  He  spoke  and  he  sat  down  ; 
hSSi?  ^"'^  the  people  of  the  town, 

resolves.         Who  Were   fired  with  a 

brave  emulation, 
Now  rose  with  one  accord,  and  voted 
thanks  unto  the  lord- 
Mayor  for  his  oration  : 

miss^the^en-  ^^^^  envoy  they  dismissed, 
voy.  and  set         ucvcr  placing  in  his  fist 
So  much  as  a«ingle  shil- 
ling ; 

And  all  with  courage  fired,  as  his  lord- 
ship he  desired. 
At  once  set  about  their  drilling. 

of  the  City   Then  every  city  ward  estab- 

guard :  viz.  t  i     i  i 

militia.  lished  a  guard, 

tuKom'        Diurnal  and  nocturnal  : 
bardiers.and  Militia    voluntcers,  liffht 

their  com-  ^  i  v 

manders.  dragoous,    and  bom- 

bardiers, 
With  an  alderman  for  colonel. 


There  was  muster  and  roll-calls,  and 
repairing  city  walls, 
And  filling  up  of  fosses  : 
Of  the  ma-    And  the  captains  and  the 
captains,  majors,  SO  gallant  and 

courageous, 
A-riding  about  on  their  bosses. 

StionslJd  ^®  guarded  at  all  hours 
artillery.  they  built  themsclvcs 

watch-towers. 
With  every  tower  a  man  on  ; 
And  surely  and  secure,  each  from  out 
his  embrasure, 
Looked  down  the  iron  cannon  ! 


A  battle-song  was  writ  for  tlie  theatre, 
where  it 
Was  sung  with  vast  energy 
And   rapturous    applause;  of  the  con- 
an<l  besides,  the  pub-  fSs  U'/ 

lie  cause,  the  clergy. 

Was  supported  by  the  clergy. 

The  pretty  ladies'-maids  were  pinning 
of  cockades, 
And  tying  on  of  sashes  ; 
And  dropping  gentle  tears,  while  their 
lovers  bluster'd  fierce, 
About  gunshot  and  gashes  ; 

The  ladies  took  the  hint,  and 

all  day  were  scraping    Sdies ; 
lint. 

As  became  their  softer  genders  ; 
And  got  bandages  and  beds  for  the 
limbs  and  for  the  heads 
Of  the  city's  brave  defenders. 

The  men,  both  young  and  old,  felt 
resolute  and  bold. 
And  panted  hot  for  glory  ; 
Even  the  tailors  Van  to  bra^y,  ^"5-  finally, 

,         1  °  .  1       1  of  the  tay- 

and  embroidered  on  lors. 
their  flag, 

"AUT  WINCERE  AUT  MORI." 


Seeing  the   city's  resolute  oftheCos- 
condition,  fi^t's'jrafi. 
The  Cossack   chief,   too  gem; 
cunning  to  despise  it, 

Said  to  himself,  "Not  having  ammu- 
nition 

Wherewith  to   batter   the   place  in 

proper  form, 
Some  of  these  nights  I'll  carry  it  by 

storm, 

And  sudden  escalade  it  or  surprise  it. 

"Let's  see,  how^ever,  if  the  "^"grs^siuie'' 
cits  stand  firmish."  victorie. 
He  rode  up  to  the  city  gates  ;  for 
answers. 

Out  rushed  an  eager  troop  of  the  town 

el  He, 

And  straightw^ay^did  begin  a  gallant 
skirmish  : 


300 


BALLADS. 


The  Cossack  hereupon  did  sound  re- 
treat, 

Leaving  the  victory  with  the  city 
lancers. 

whatpns-    They  took  two  prisoners 

oners  they  '  ,  ,  ^ 

took.  and  as  many  horses, 

And  the  whole  town  grew  quickly 
so  elate 

With  this  small  victory  of  their  virgin 
forces. 

That  they  did  deem  their  privates  and 
commanders 

So  many  Caesars,  Pompeys,  Alexan- 
ders, 

Napoleons,  or  Fredericks  the  Great. 
And  how     ^^d  puffinsT  witli  iuordi- 

conceited  ]  .  ^ 

they  were.  UatC  COUCClt 

They  utterly  despised  these  Cos- 
sack thieves  ; 
And  thought  the  ruffians  easier  to  beat 
Than  porters  carpets  think,  or  ushers 
boys. 

Meanwhile,  a  sly  spectator  of  their 
joys, 

The  Cossack  captain  giggled  in  his 
sleeves. 

Of  the  Cos-      Whene'er  you  meet  yon 

sack  chief.—  ,  . .  •/ 

his  orders  ;  Stupid  City  hOgS 

(He  bade  his  troops  precise  this  order 
keep), 

"  Don't  stand  a  moment  —  run  away, 

you  dogs  !  " 
'Twas  done  ;  and  when  they  met  the 

town  battalions. 
The  Cossacks,  as  if  frightened  at  their 

valiance. 

Turned  tail,  and  bolted  like  so 
many  sheep. 

And  how  he  They  fled,  obedient  to  their 

feigned  a  i.   •    ^  i 

retreat.  captaiH  s  Order  : 

And  now  this   bloodless  siege  a 
month  had  lasted. 
When,  viewing  the  country  round,  the 
city  warder 
(Who,  like  a  faithful  weathercock, 
did  perch 

Upon  the  steeple  of  St.  Sophy's 
church), 

Sudden  his   trum})et  took,  and  a 
mighty  blast  he  blasted. 


His  voice  it  might  be  heard  The  warder 

through  all  the  streets  th?cos-"^ 
(He  was  a  warder  won-  Ireat^lnd 

drous  strong  in  lung) ,  the  c'itie 
"  Victory,  victory  !  the  foe  foytiV^' 

retreats  !/' 
"  The  foe  retreats  !  "  each  cries  to  each 

he  meets  ; 
"  The  foe  retreats  !  "  each  in  his  turn 

repeats. 

Gods  !  how  the  guns  did  roar,  and 
how  the  joy-bells  rung  ! 


Arming  in  haste  his  gallant  city 
lancers,  • 
The  mayor,  to  learn  if  true  the  news 
might  be, 

A  league  or  two  out  issued  with  his 
prance  rs. 

The  Cossacks  (something  had  given 
their  courage  a  damper) 
Hastened  their  flight,  and  'gan  like 
mad  to  scamper  : 

Blesse^  be  all  the  saints,  Kiova 
town  was  free  ! 


XI. 

Now,  puff'ed  with  pride,  the  mayor 

grew  vain. 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again  ; 
And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and 

thrice  he  slew  the  slain. 
'Tis  true  he  might  amuse  himself  thus, 
And  not  be  very  murderous  ; 
For  as  of  those  who  to  death  were  done 
The  number  was  exactly  none, 
His  lordship,  in  his  soul's  elation, 
Did  take  a  bloodless  recreation  — 
Going  home  again,  he  did  The  man- 
ordain  ^^l^ 
A  very  splendid  cold  colla-  joycings, 
tion 

For  the  magistrates  and  the  corpora- 
tion ; 

Likewise  a  grand  illumination, 
For  the  amusement  of  the  nation. 
That  night  the  theatres  were  free, 
The  conduits  they  ran  Malvoisie  ; 
Each  house  that  night  did  beam  with 
light 

And  sound  with  mirth  and  jollity  : 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  SOPHIA  OF  KIOFF.  301 


^nd  its  im-         shame,  0  shame  !  not 
a  soul  in  the  town, 

Now  the  city  was  safe  and  the  Cos- 
sacks flown, 

Ever  thought  of  the  bountiful  saint 
by  whose  care 
The  town  had  been  rid  of  these 
terrible  Turks  — 

Said  even  a  prayer  to  that  patroness 
fair, 

For  these  her  wondrous  works  ! 
How  the      Lord  Hyacinth  waited,  the 
S»"Kd     meekest  of  priors- 
at  church,     He  waitcd  at  church  with 

and  nobody        ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^-^^^  . 

thither.       He  went  there  at  noon  and 

he  waited  till  ten. 
Expecting  in  vain  the  lord-mayor  and 
his  men. 

He  waited  and  waited  from  mid-day 
to  dark  ; 

But  in  vain  —  you  might  search 
through  the  whole  of  the 
church, 

Not  a  layman,  alas  !  to  the  city's  dis- 
grace, 

From  mid-day  to  dark  showed  his  nose 

in  the  place. 
The  pew-woman,  organist,  beadle, 

and  clerk. 
Kept  away  from  their  work,  and  were 

dancing  like  mad 
Away  in  the  streets  with  the  other 

mad  people, 
Not  thinking  to  pray,  but  to  guzzle 

and  tipple 
Wherever  the  drink  might  be  had. 


How  he  Amidst  this  din  and  revelry 
To^bid  them  throughout  the  city  roar- 
to  prayer.  ing, 

The  silver  moon  rose  silently,  and 

high  in  heaven  soaring  ; 
Prior  Hyacinth  was  fervently  upon  his 

knees  adoring  : 
"  Towards  my  precious  patroness  this 

conduct  sure  unfair  is  ; 
I  cannot  think,  I  must  confess,  what 

keeps  the  dignitaries 
And  our  good  mayor  away,  unless 

some  business  them  contraries." 


He  puts  his  long  white  mantle  on  and 

forth  the  prior  sallies  — 
(His  pious  thoughts  were  bent  upon 

good  deeds  and  not  on  malice)  : 
Heavens  !   how  the    banc^uet  lights 

they  shone  about  the  mayor's 

palace  ! 

About  the  hall  the  scullions  How  the 
ran  with  meats  both  pT^s^""^ 
fresh  and  potted.  ;     jeered  him. 

The  pages  came  with  cup  and  can,  all 
for  the  guests  allotte^l  ; 

Ah,  how  they  jeered  that  good  fat  man 
as  up  the  stairs  he  trotted  ! 


He  entered  in  the  ante-rooms  where 

sat  the  mayor's  court  in  ; 
He  found  a  pack  of  drunken  grooms 

a-dicing  and  a-sporting  ; 
The  horrid  wine  and  'bacco  fumes, 

they  set  the  prior  a-snorting  ! 
The  prior  thought  he'd  speak  about 

their  sins  before  he  went  hence. 
And  lustily  began  to  shout  of  sin  and 

of  repentance  ; 
The  rogues,  they  kicked  the  prior  out 

before  he'd  done  a  sentence  ! 


And  having  got  no  portion  small  of 
buffeting  and  tussling. 

At  last  he  reached  the  banquet-hall, 
where  sat  the  mayor  a-guzzling, 

And  by  his  side  his  lady  tall  dressed 
out  in  white  sprig  muslin. 

Around  the  table  in  a  lins 

<^  mayor 

the       guests       were  mayoress, 

drinking  heavy  ;  l^i^'^I^^ 
They'd  drunk  the  church,  fJP^'^-^^^'Q 

and  drunk  the  king,  chtfrch? 

and  the  army  and  the  navy  ; 
In  fact  they'd  toasted  everything. 

The  prior  said,  "  God  save  ye  I  " 

The  mayor  cried,  "  Bring  a  silver  cup 

—  there's  one  upon  the  beaufet ; 
And,  Prior,  have  the  venison  up  —  it's 

capital  rechauffe. 
And  so,  Sir  Priest,  you've  come  to 

sup  ?     And  pray  you,  how's 

Saint  Sophy  ? " 
The  prior's  face  quite  red  was  grown, 

with  horror  and  with  anger  ; 


302 


BALLADS. 


He  flung  the  proffered  goblet  down  — 
it  made  a  hideous  clangor  ; 

And  'gan  a-preaching  with  a  frown  — 
he  was  a  fierce  haranguer. 

He  tried  the  mayor  and  aldermen  — 

they  all  set  up  a-jeering  : 
He  tried  the  common-councilmen  — 

they  too  began  a-sneering  ; 
He  turned  towards  the  may'ress  then, 

and  hoped  to  get  a  hearing. 
He  knelt  and  seized  her  dinner-dress, 

made  of  the  muslin  snowy, 
**To  church,  to  church,  my  sweet 

mistress!"   he   cried;  **the 

way  I'll  show  ye." 
Alas,  the  lady-mayoress  fell  back  as 

drunk  as  Chloe  ! 


How  the      Out  from  this  dissolute  and 

prior  went  ,  , 

back  alone.       cirunken  court 

Went  the  good  prior,  his  eyes  with 

weeping  dim  : 
He  tried  the  people  of  a  meaner  sort — 
They  too,  alas,  were  bent  upon  their 

sport. 

And  not  a  single  soul  would  follow 
him  ! 

But  all  were  swigging  schnaps  and 
guzzling  beer. 

He  found  the  cits,  their  daughters, 

sons,  and  spouses. 
Spending  the  live-long  night  in  fierce 

carouses  : 
Alas,  unthinking  of  the  danger 

near  ! 

One  or  two  sentinels  the  ramparts 
guarded. 

The  rest  were  sharing  in  the  general 
feast  : 

* '  God  wot,  our  tipsy  town  is  poorly 
warded  ; 

Sweet  Saint  Sophia  help  us  !  "  cried 
the  priest. 

Alone  he  entered  the  cathedral  gate. 
Careful  he  locked  the  mighty  oaken 
door  ; 

Within  his  company  of  monks  did 
wait, 


A  dozen  poor  old  pious  men  —  no 
more. 

Oh,  but  it  grieved  the  gentle  prior 
sore, 

To  think  of  those  lost  souls,  given  up 
to  drink  and  fate  ! 

The  niicrhty  outer  gate  well  6"^  ^^H* 

,°        1        If..  himselt  into 

barred  and  fast,  saint 
The  poor  old  friars  stirred  thfpSlith 

their  poor  old  bones,   his  brethren. 

And  pattering  swiftly  on  the  damp 
cold  stones, 
They  through  the  solitary  chancel 


The  chancel  walls  looked  black  and 
dim  and  vast. 
And  rendered,  ghost-like,  melan- 
choly tones. 

Onward  the  fathers  sped,  till  coming 
nigh  a 

Small  iron  gate,  the  which  they 

entei'ed  quick  at, 
They  locked  and  double-locked  the 
inner  wicket 
And  stood  within  the  chapel  of  Sophia. 
Vain  were  it  to  describe  this  sainted 
place, 

Vain  to  describe  that  celebrated 
trophy. 

The  venerable  statue  of  Saint  Sophy, 
Which  formed  its  chiefest  ornament 
and  grace. 

Here  the  good  prior,  his  personal  griefs 
and  sorrows 
In  his  extreme  devotion  quickly 
merging. 

At  once  began  to  pray  with  voice 

sonorous  ; 
The  other  friars  joined  in  pious  chorus. 
And  passed  the  night  in  singing, 

praying,  scourging, 
In  honor  of  Sophia,  that  sweet 
virgin. 

XIV. 

Leaving    thus     the     pious  The  episode 

F.^pt-f  \y.  ofSneezoff 
ic^t  m  and  Ka- 

il umble    penitence  and  tinka. 
prayer. 

And  the  greedy  cits  a-feasting, 
Let  us  to  the  walls  repair. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  SOPHIA  OF  KIOFF.  303 


Walking  by  the  sentry-boxes, 
Underneath  the  silver  moon, 

Lo  !  the  sentry  boldly  cocks  his  —  ^ 
Boldly  cocks  his  musketoon. 

SneezofF  was  his  designation. 

Fair-haired  boy,  for  ever  pitied  ; 

For  to  take  his  cruel  station, 
He  but  now  Katinka  quitted. 

Poor  in  purse  were  both,  but  rich  in 
Tender  love's  delicious  plenties  ; 

She  a  damsel  of  the  kitchen, 
He  a  haberdasher's  'prentice. 

'Tinka,  maiden  tender-hearted. 
Was  dissolved  in  tearful  fits. 

On  that  fatal  night  she  parted 

From  her  darling,  fair-haired  Fritz. 

Warm  her  soldier  lad  she  wrapt  in 

Comforter  and  mufFettee  ; 
Called  him  "general  "  and  ^'captain," 

Though  a  simple  private  he. 

**  On  your  bosom  wear  this  plaster, 
'Twill  defend  you  from  the  cold  ; 

In  your  pipe  smoke  this  canaster. 
Smuggled  'tis,  my  love,  and  old. 

*'A11  the  night,  my  love,  I'll  miss 
you." 

Thus  she  spoke  ;  and  from  the  door 
Fair-haired  SneezofF  made  his  issue. 
To  return,  alas,  no  more. 

He  it  is  who  calmly  walks  his 
Walk  beneath  the  silver  moon  ; 

He  it  is  who  boldly  cocks  his 
Detonating  musketoon. 

He  the  bland  canaster  puffing. 
As  upon  his  round  he  paces. 

Sudden  sees  a  ragamuffin 

Clambering  swiftly  up  the  glacis. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  *'  exclaims  the 
sentry  ; 

*  *  When  the  sun  has  once  gone  down 
No  one  ever  makes  an  entry 
Into  this  here  fortified  town  !  " 


Shouted  thus  the  watchful  How  the 

Mnpp'/nff  •  sentrie 
^>neeZOn  ,  Sneezoff 

But,  ere  any  one  replied,  ^^^^JJJ*^'^^ 
Wretched  youth  !   he  fired  siayn*^, 

his  piece  off 
Started,    staggered,   groaned,  and 

died  ! 

XV. 

Ah,  full  well   might   the  How  the 

sentinel  cry,  "Who  S.^^^ 

goes  there  ^"Tto"'kthe 
But  echo  was  frightened  too  cltie.^"  ^ 

much  to  declare. 
Who  goes  there  ?  who  goes  there  ? 

Can  any  one  swear 
To  the  number  of  sands  mr  Us  hords 

de  la  mer^ 
Or  the  whiskers  of  D'Orsay  Count 

down  to  a  hair  ? 
As  well  might  you  tell  of  the  sands 

the  amount, 
Or  number  each  hair  in  each  curl  of 

the  Count, 
As  ever  proclaim  the  number  and  name 
Of  the  hundreds  and  thousands  that 

up  the  wall  came  ! 
Down,  down  the  knaves  poured  with 

fire  and  with  sword  : 
There  were  thieves  from  the  of  the  cos- 
Danube  and  rogues  from  sack  troops. 

the  Don  ; 

There  were  Turks  and  Wallacks,  and 
shouting  Cossacks  ; 

Of  all  nations  and  res^ions,  and  toncrues 
and  religions  — 

Jew,  Christian,  Idolater,  Frank,  Mus- 
sulman : 

Ah,  horrible  sight  was  Kioff  that 
night ! 

The  gates  were  all  taken  —  And  of  their 
no    chance  e'en    of  buni^n^°^ 

flight  ;  murdering. 

And  with  torch  and  with  fn"g/'^'' ^' 
axe  the  bloody  Cossacks 

Went  hither  and  thither  a-hunting  in 
packs  : 

They   slashed   and   they  slev»'  both 

Christian  and  Jew  — 
Women  and  children,  they  slaughtered 

them  too. 

Some,  saving  their  throats,  plunged 

into  the  moats. 
Or  the   river  —  but   oh,    they  had 

burned  all  the  boats  ! 


304 


BALLADS. 


How  they     But  here  let  us  pause — for 

burned  the         ^         »,  <•     ^  i 

whole  citie       I  cau  t  pursue  turtlier 
^heThufch,   This  scene  of  rack,  ravish- 
ment, ruin,  and  nuirther. 
Too  well  did  the  cunning  old  Cossack 
succeed  ! 

His  plan  of  attack  was  successful  in- 
deed ! 

The  night  was  his  own  —  the  town  it 

was  gone  ; 
'Twas  a  heap  still  a-burning  of  timber 

and  stone. 
One  building  alone  had  escaped  from 

the  fires, 

^[jereofthe  Saint  Sophy's  fair  church, 
to  ring,  with    its    steeples  and 

spires, 

Calm,  stately,  and  white, 
It  stood  in  the  light ; 
And  as  if  'twould  defy  all  the  con- 
queror's power,  — 
As  if  nought  had  occurred, 
Might  clearly  be  heard 
The  chimes  ringing  soberly  every  half- 
hour  ! 


XVI. 

The  city  was  defunct  —  silence  suc- 
ceeded 

Unto  its  last  fierce  agonizing  yell  ; 
And  then  it  was  the  conqueror  first 
heeded 

The  sound  of  these  calm  bells. 
How  the     Furious  towards  his  aides- 
cS'b^de      de-camp  he  turns, 
them  burn      And  (spcakiug  as  if  Byron's 
S;;^.'^^"''^^      works  he  knew) 

Villains!"  he  fiercely  cries,  "the 
city  burns. 

Why  not  the  temple  too  ? 
Burn  me  yon  church,  and  murder  all 
within  !  " 

How  they  Thc  Cossacks  thundered  at 
ami  of  h'V  outer  door  ; 

cinth,  his  an-  And  Father  Hyacinth,  who 
ger  thereat.  ^g^rd  thc  din, 

(And  thought  himself  and  brethren  in 
distress, 

Desert(Ml  by  their  lady  patroness) 
Did  to  her  statue  turn,  and  thus  his 
woes  outpour. 


XVII. 

And  is  it  thus,  0  falsest  His  prayer 
,^  .    ,  to  the  Saint 

01  the  saints,  Sophia. 

Thou  hearest  our  complaints  ? 
Tell  me,  did  ever  my  attachment 
falter 
To  serve  thy  altar  ? 
Was  not  thy  name,  ere  ever  I  did 
sleep. 

The  last  upon  my  lip  ? 
Was  not  thy  name  the  very  first  that 
broke 

From  me  when  I  awoke  ? 
Have  I  not  tried  with  fasting,  flogging, 
penance. 
And  mortified  countenance 
For  to  find  favor,  Sophy,  in  thy  sight  ? 

And  lo  !  this  night. 
Forgetful  of  my  prayers,  and  thine 
own  promise. 
Thou  turnest  from  us  ; 
Lettest  the  heathen  enter  in  our  city, 

And,  without  pity, 
Murder  our  burghers,  seize  upon  their 
spouses. 
Burn  down  their  houses  ! 
Is  such  a  breach  of  faith  to  be  endured  ? 

See  what  a  lurid 
Light  from   the  insolent  invader's 
torches 
Shines  on  your  porches  ! 
E'en  now,  with  thundering  battering- 
ram  and  hammer 
And  hideous  clamor  ; 
With  axemen,  swordsmen,  pikemen, 
billmen,  bowmen, 
The  conquering  foemen, 
0  Sophy  !  beat  your  gate  about  your 
ears, 
Alas  !  and  here's 
A  humble  company  of  pious  men, 

Like  muttons  in  a  pen, 
Whose  souls  shall  quickly  from  their 
bodies  be  thrusted, 
Because  in  you  they  trusted. 
Do  you  not  know  the  Calmuc  chiefs 
desires  — 
Kill  all  the  friars  ! 
And  you,  of  all  the  saints  most  false 
and  fickle. 
Leave   us  in    this  abominable 
pickle." 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  SOPHIA  OF  KIOFF.  305 


The  statue     <<  RaSH  HyACTNTHUS  !  " 

Ipe^kT;'*^        (Here,   to  the  astonish- 
nieiit  of  all  her  backers, 
Saint  Sophy,  opening  wide  her  wooden 
jaws. 

Like  to  a  pair  of  German  walnut- 
crackers, 

Began),  "I  did  not  think  you  had 
been  thus,  — 

0  monk  of  little  faith  !    Is  it  because 
A  rascal  scum  of  tilthy  Cossack  hea- 
then 

Besiege  our  town,  that  you  distrust  in 

me,  then  ? 
Think' St  tliou  that  I,  who  in  a  former 

day 

Did  walk  across  the  Sea  of  Marmora 
(Not  mentiofting,  for  shortness,  other 
seas),  — 

That  I,  who  skimmed  the  broad  Borys- 
thenes. 

Without  so  much  as  wetting  of  my 
toes, 

Am  frightened  at  a  set  of  men  like 

those  ? 

1  have  a  mind  to  leave  you  to  your 

fate  : 

Such  cowardice  as  this  my  scorn  in- 
spires." 


fuptedby "  ^^^^^  Sophy  was  here 
the  breaking     Cut  short  in  her  words,  — 
Cossacifs.     For  at  this  very  moment  in 
tumbled  the  gate, 
And  with  a  wdld  cheer, 

And  a  clashing  of  swords. 
Swift  through  the  church  porches, 
With  a  waving  of  torches, 
And  a  shriek  and  a  yell 
Like  the  devils  of  hell, 
With  pike  and  with  axe 
In  rushed  the  Cossacks,  — 
In    rushed    the    Cossacks,  crying, 
"  Murder  the  friars  !  " 


Snthjhis  •  T^^^  ^  t^^ill  ^6^^  Hya- 

outrageous  cluth, 

address;  y^^^^        ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^..jl^, 

nous  shout  Calmuc  ! 
Now,  thought  he,  my  trial  begin neth  ; 
Saints,   0  give  me  courage  and 
pluck  ! 


**  Courage,  boys,  'tis  useless  to  funk  !'* 

Thus  unto  the  friars  he  began  : 
**  Never  let  it  be  said  that  a  monk 

Is  not  likewise  a  gentleman. 
Though  the  patron  saint  of  the  church, 

Spite  of  all  that  we've  done  and 
we've  pray'd. 
Leaves  us  wickedly  here  in  the  lurch, 

Hang  it,  gentlemen,  who's  afraid  !  " 

As  thus  the  eallant  Hya-  Andprepa- 

.    ,  1  T  ration  for 

CinthUS  spoke,  dying. 

He,  with  an  air  as  easy  and  as  free 
as 

If  the  quick-coming  murder  w^ere  a 
joke. 

Folded  his  robes  around  his  sides,  and 
took 

Place  under  sainted  Sophy's  legs  of 
oak, 

Like  Csesar  at  the  statue  of  Pom- 
peius. 

The  monks  no  leisure  had  about  to 
look 

(Each  being  absorbed  in  his  particular 
case). 

Else  had  they  seen  with  what  celestial 
grace 

A  wooden  smile  stole  o'er  the  saint's 
mahogany  face. 

Well  done,  well  done,  Hy-  saint  Sophia. 

acinthus,  my  son  !  "  'p*'^^^- 
Thus  spoke  the  sainted  statue. 
*'  Though  you  doubted  me  in  the  hour 

of  need, 

i  And  spoke  of  me  very  rude  indeed, 
You  deserve  good  luck  for  showing 
such  pluck, 
And  I  won't  be  angry  at  you." 

The    monks    by-standing.  She  gets  on 
one  and  all,  '^S^^ 

Of   this  wondrous  scene  straddle- 
beholders,  ' 

To  this  kind  promise  listened  con- 
tent, 

And  couldn't  contain  their  astonish- 
ment. 

When  Saint  Sophia  moved  and  went 
Down  from  her  wooden  pedestal, 
And  twisted  her  legs,  sure  as  eggs 
is  eggs. 

Round  Hyacinthus's  shoulders  ! 


20 


306 


BALLADS. 


And  bids  **Ho!  forwards,"  cried 
him  run.  Sophy,  *' there's  no  time 

for  waiting, 
The  Cossacks  are  breaking  the  very 

last  gate  in  : 
See  the  glare  of  their  torches  shines 
red  through  the  grating  ; 
We've  still  the  back  door,  and  two 
minutes  or  more. 
Now  boys,  now  or  never,  we  must 
make  for  the  river, 
For  we  only  are  safe  on  the  opposite 
shore. 

Run  swiftly  to-day,  lads,  if  ever  you 
ran,  — 

Put  out  your  best  leg,  Hyacinthus, 
my  man  ; 

And  I'll  lay  five  to  two  that  you  carry 
us  through. 
Only  scamper  as  fast  as  you  can." 


XVIII. 

He  runneth,  Away  wcut  the  pricst 
through  the  little  back 
door, 

And  light  on  his  shoulders  the  image 
he  bore  : 

The  honest  old  priest  was  not  pun- 
ished the  least. 

Though  the  image  was  eight  feet,  and 
he  measured  four. 

Away  vrent  the  prior,  and  the  monks 
at  his  tail 

Went  snorting,  and  puffing,  and  pant- 
ing full  sail  ; 
And  just  as  the  last  at  the  back 
door  had  passed. 

In  furious  liunt  behold  at  the  front 

The  Tartars  so  fierce,  with  their  terri- 
ble cheers  ; 

With  axes,  and  halberts,  and  muskets, 
and  spears. 

With  torches  a- flaming  the  chapel  now 
came  in. 

They  tore  up  the  mass-book,  they 

stamped  on  the  psalter. 
They  pulled  the  gold  crucifix  down 

from  the  altar  ; 
The  vestments  they  burned  with  their 

blasphemous  fires, 
And  many  cried,   "  Curse  on  them  ! 

where  an'  the  friars  ?" 


When  loaded  with  plunder,  yet  seek- 
ing for  more. 

One  chanced  to  fling  open  the  little 
back  door. 

Spied  out  the  friars'  white  robes  and 
long  shadows 

In  the  moon,  scampering  over  the 
meadows. 

And  stopped  the  Cossacks  in  the  midst 

of  their  arsons. 
By    crying    out    lustily,  ^-J.^^^l,,,, 

"There    go    the  him. 

PARSONS  ! " 

With  a  whoop  and  a  yell,  and  a  scream 

and  a  shout. 
At  once  the  whole  murderous  body 

turned  out ; 
And  swift  as  the  hawk  pounces  down 

on  the  pigeon. 
Pursued  the  poor  short-winded  men  of 

religion. 


When  the  sound  of  that  JJj^'^^^^® 
cheering  came  to  the  sweated, 
monks'  hearing, 

0  heaven  !  how  the  poor  fellows 

panted  and  blew  ! 
At  fighting  not  cunning,  unaccus- 
tomed to  running. 
When  the  Tartars  came  up,  what 
the  deuce  should  they  do  ? 
**  They'll  make  us  all  martyrs,  those 
bloodthirsty  Tartars  !  " 
Quoth  fat  Father  Peter  to  fat  Father 
Hugh. 

The  shouts  they  came  clearer,  the  foe 
they  drew  nearer  ; 
Oh,  how  the  bolts  whistled,  and  how 
the  lights  shone  ! 

1  cannot  get  further,  this  running  is 

murther  ; 
Come  carry  me,  some  one  ! "  cried 
big  Father  John. 
And  even  the  statue  grew  frightened, 
Od  rat  you  !  " 
It  cried,  "Mr." Prior,  I  wish  youM 
get  on  !  " 

On  tugged  the  good  friar,  but  nigher 

and  nigher 
Appeared  the  fierce  Russians,  with 

swoid  and  with  fire. 
On  tugg(Hl  the  good  prior  at  Saint 

Sophy's  desire,  — 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  SOPHIA  OF  KIOFF.  307 


A  scramble  through  bramble,  through 

mud,  and  through  mire. 
The  swil't  arrows'  whizziness  causing 

a  dizziness. 
Nigh  done  his  business,  fit  to  expire. 
Father    H3^acinth    tugged,  and  the 

monks  they  tugged  after  : 
The  foemen  pursued  with  a  horrible 

laughter, 

And  the  And  hurl'd  their  long  spears 
fixed  arrows      Touud  the  poor  brethren's 

into  their  CarS, 

*^^'^*         So  true,  that  next  day  in  the 

coats  of  each  priest. 
Though  never  a  wound  was  given, 
there  were  found 
A  dozen  arrows  at  least. 

How,  at  the 

Now  the  chase  seemed  at  its 

last  gasp,  worst. 

Prior  and  monks  were  fit  to  burst ; 
Scarce  you  knew  the  which  was 
first. 

Or  pursuers  or  pursued  ; 
When  tlie  statue,  by  heaven's  grace, 
Suddenly  did  change  the  face 
Of  this  interesting  race. 

As  a  saint,  sure,  only  could. 


For  as  the  jockey  who  at  Epsom 
rides. 

When  that  his  steed  is  spent  and 
punished  sore, 
Diggeth  his  heels  into  the  courser's 
sides. 

And  thereby  makes  him  run  one  or 

two  furlongs  more  ; 
Even  thus,  betwixt  the  eighth  rib 
and  the  ninth. 
The  saint  rebuked  the  prior,  that 
weary  creeper  ; 
Fresh  strength  into  his  limbs  her 
kicks  imparted, 
The  friars     ^^^^  bound  he  made,  as  gay 
won,  and        as  wlieu  he  started. 
Borysthenes  Yes,  with  his  brethren  clinoj- 
fluvius.  jj^g     his  cloak, 

The  statue  on  his  shoulders  —  fit  to 
choke  — 

One  most  tremendous  bound  made 
Hyacinth, 
And  soused  friars,  statue,  and  all,  slap- 
dash into  the  Dnieper  ! 


And  when  the  Russians,  in  Andhowthe 

,  Kubsians 

a  fiery  rank,  saw 
Panting  and  fierce,  drew  up  along 

the  shore  ; 
(For  liere  the  vain  pursuing  they 

forbore, 

Nor  cared  they  to  surpass  the  river's 
bank, ) 

Then,  looking  fi'om  the  rocks  and 
rushes  dank, 
A  sight  they  witnessed  never  seen 
before. 

And  which,  with  its  accompaniments 
glorious. 

Is  writ  i'  the  golden  book,  or  liber 
aureus. 

Plump    in    the    Dnieper  The  statue 
flounced  the  fi  iar  and  fSth^h"^^' 
friends  —  sit^down^ 
They  dangling  round  his  with  the 
neck,  he  fit  to  choke. 

11      II-  .    Hyacinth  his 

W  hen  suddenly  his  most  cloak, 
miraculous  cloak 
Over  the  billowy  waves  itself  extends, 
Down   from   his   shoulders  quietly 
descends 

The  venerable  Sophy's  statue  of  oak; 
Which,  sitting  down  upon  the  cloak 
so  ample. 

Bids  all  the  brethren  follow  its  ex- 
ample ! 

Each  at  her  bidding  sat.  How  in  this 
and  sat  at  ease  ;  _  £'T,he°/ 
The  statue  'gan  a  gracious  say  led  away. 

conversation. 
And  (wavhig  to  the  foe  a  salutation) 
Sail'd  with   her   wondering  happy 
proteges 

Gayly  adown  the  wide  Borysthenes, 
Until  they  came  unto  some  friendly 
nation. 

And  when  the  heathen  had  at  length 

grown  shy  of 
Their  compiest,  she  one  day  came 

back  as^ain  to  KioflT. 


XX. 

Think  not,  0  Reader,  ^'"js.  ^^e 

'      ,  '  end. 

THAT  WE  RE  LAUGH- 
ING AT  YOU  ; 
You  MAY   GO  TO    KlOFF   NOW,  AND 
SEE  THE  STATUE  ! 


TITMARSH'S  CARMEN  LILLIENSE. 


Lille,  Sept.  2, 1843. 
My  heart  is  weary ^  viy  peace  is  gone, 

How  shall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal  ? 
1  hare  no  ynoney ^  I  lie  in  pawn^ 

A  stranger  in  the  town  of  Lille. 

I. 

With  twenty  pounds  but  three  weeks 
since 

From  Paris   forth   did  Titmarsh 
wheel, 

I  thought  myself  as  rich  a  prince 
As  beggar  poor  I'm  now  at  Lille. 

Confiding  in  my  ample  means  — 
In  troth,  I  was  a  happy  chiel  ! 

I  passed  the  gates  of  Valenciennes, 
I  never  thought  to  come  by  Lille. 

I  never  thought  my  twenty  pounds 
Some  rascal  knave  would  dare  to 
steal  ; 

I  gayly  passed  the  Belgic  bounds 
At  Quievrain,  twenty  miles  from 
Lille. 

To  Antwerp  town  I  hasten'd  post, 
And  as  1  took  my  evening  meal 
I  felt  my  pouch,  —  my  purse  was  lost, 

0  Heaven  !    Why  came  I  not  by 

Lille  ? 

I  straightway  called  for  ink  and  pen, 

To  gi'andmamma  1  made  nf)peal  ; 
Meanwhile  a  loan  of  guineas  ten 

1  boiTowcd  from  a  friend  so  leal. 


I  got  the  cash  from  grandmamma 
(Her  gentle  heart  my  woes  could 
feel,) 

But  where  I  went,  and  what  I  saw, 
What  matters  ?   Here  1  am  at  Lille. 

My  heart  is  weary,  my  peace  is  gone, 
How  shall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal  ? 

I  have  no  cash,  I  lie  in  pawn, 
A  stranger  in  the  town  of  Lille. 

II. 

To  stealing  T  can  never  come. 

To  pawn  my  watch  I'm  too  genteel, 

Besides,  I  left  my  watch  at  home, 
How  could  I  pawn  it  then  at  Lille  ? 

oiote"  at  times  the  guests  will  say. 
I  turn  as  white  as  cold  boil'd  veal  ; 
I  turn  and  look  another  way, 
/  dare  not  ask  the  bill  at  Lille. 

I  dare  not  to  the  landlord  say, 
"  Good  sir,  I  cannot  pay  your  bill 

He  tliinks  I  am  a  Lord  Anglais, 
And  is  quite  proud  I  stay  at  Lille. 

He  thinks  I  am  a  Lord  Anglais, 
Like  Rothschild  or  Sir  Robert  Peel, 

And  so  he  serves  me  every  day 

The  best  of  meat  and  drink  in 
Lille. 

Yet  when  he  looks  me  in  the  face 
I  blush  as  red  as  cochineal  ; 

And  think  did  he  but  know  my  case, 
How  changed  he'd  be,  my  host  of 
Lille. 


TITMARSH'S  CARMEN  LTLLIENSE. 


309 


My  heart  is  weary,  my  peace  is  gone, 
How  shall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal  ? 

1  have  no  money,  1  lie  in  pawn, 
A  stranger  in  the  town  of  Lille. 


III. 

The  sun  bursts  out  in  furious  blaze, 
I  perspirate  from  head  to  heel  ; 

I'd  like  to  hire  a  one-horse  chaise, 
How  can  I,  without  cash  at  Lille  ? 

I  pass  in  sunshine  burning  hot 
By  cafes  where  in  beer  they  deal  ; 

1  think  how  pleasant  were  a  pot, 
A  frothing  pot  of  beer  of  Lille  ! 

AVhat  is  yon  house  with  walls  so  thick, 
All  girt  around  with  guard  and 
grille  ? 

0  gracious  gods  !  it  makes  me  sick. 
It  is  the  prison-house  of  Lille  ! 

0  cursed  prison  strong  and  barred, 
It  does  my  very  blood  congeal  ! 

1  tremble  as  I  pass  the  guard, 
And  quit  that  ugly  part  of  Lille. 

The  church -door  beggar  whines  and 
prays, 

I  turn  away  at  his  appeal  : 
Ah,  church-door  beggar  !  go  thy  ways  ! 
You're  not  the  poorest  man  in  Lille. 

My  heart  is  weary,  my  peace  is  gone, 
How  shall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal  ? 

1  have  no  money,  I  lie  in  pawn, 
A  stranger  in  the  town  of  Lille. 


IV. 

Say,  shall  I  to  yon  Flemish  church. 
And  at  a  Poi)ish  altar  kneel  ? 

Oh,  do  not  leave  me  in  the  lurch,  — 
I'll  cry,  ye  patron-saints  of  Lille  ! 

Ye  virgins  dressed  in  satin  hoops, 
Ye  martyrs  slain  for  mortal  weal, 

Look  kindly  down  !  before  you  stoops 
The  miserablest  man  in  Lille. 


And  lo  !  as  1  beheld  with  awe 

A  pictured  saint  (1  swear  'tis  real), 
It  smiled,  and  turned  to  gi*andmam- 
ma  !  — 

It  did  !  and  1  had  hope  in  Lille  ! 

'Twas  five  o'clock,  and  I  could  eat. 
Although  I  could  not  pay  my  meal  : 

1  hasten  back  into  the  street 

Where  lies  my  inn,  the  best  in 
Lille. 

What  see  I  on  my  table  stand,  — 
A  letter  with  a  well-known  seal  ? 

'Tis  grandmamma's  !     I  know  her 
hand,  — 
"  To  Mr.  M.  A.  Titmarsh,  Lille." 

I  feel  a  choking  in  my  throat, 

I  pant  and  stagger,  faint  and  reel  ! 

It  is  —  it  is  —  a  ten-pound  note, 
And  I'm  no  more  in  pawn  at  Lille  ! 

[He  goes  off  by  the  diligence  that  evening,  and 
is  restored  to  the  bosom  of  his  happy  family.] 


THE  WILLOW-TREE. 

Know  ye  the  willow-tree 

Whose  gray  leaves  quiver, 
Whispering  gloomily 

To  yon  pale  river  ; 
Lady,  at  even -tide 

Wander  not  near  it, 
They  say  its  branches  hide 

A  sad,  lost  spirit  ? 

Once  to  the  willow-tree 

A  maid  came  fearful. 
Pale  seemed  her  cheek  to  be, 

Her  blue  eye  tearful  ; 
Soon  as  she  saw  the  tree. 

Her  step  moved  fleeter. 
No  one  was  there  —  ah  me  ! 

No  one  to  meet  her  ! 

Quick  beat  her  heart  to  hear 
The  far  bell's  chime 

Toll  from  the  chapel -tower 
The  trysting  time  : 


310 


BALLADS. 


But  the  red  sun  went  down 

In  golden  flame, 
And  though  she  looked  round, 

Yet  no  one  came  ! 

Presently  came  the  night, 

Sadly  to  greet  her, — 
Moon  in  her  silver  light, 

Stars  in  their  glitter  ; 
Then  sankHhe  moon  away 

Under  the  billow. 
Still  wept  the  maid  alone  — 

There  by  the  willow  ! 

Through  the  long  darkness, 

By  the  stream  rolling, 
Hour  after  hour  went  on 

Tolling  and  tolling. 
Long  was  the  darkness. 

Lonely  and  stilly  ; 
Shrill  came  the  night-wind, 

Piercing  and  chilly. 

Shrill  blew  the  morning  breeze. 

Biting  and  cold, 
Bleak  peers  the  gray  dawn 

Over  the  wold. 
Bleak  over  moor  and  stream 

Looks  the  grey  dawn, 
Gray,  with  dishevelled  hair. 
Still  stands  the  willow  there  — 

The  maid  is  gone  ! 

Domine,  Domine  ! 

Sing  we  a  litany,  — 
Sing  for  poor  maiden-hearts  broken 
and  weary  ; 
Domine y  Domine  ! 
Sing  we  a  litany. 

Wail  we  and  weep  we  a  wild 
Miserere! 


THE  WILLOW-TREE. 

(ANOTIIEll  version). 
I. 

Long  by  tlie  willow-trees 
Vainly  tln^y  sought  her, 

Wild  rang  tlic  mother's  screams 
O'er  tli(;  giay  water  : 
Where  is  my  lovely  one  ? 
Where  is  my  daughter  ? 


II. 

"  Rouse  thee,  sir  constable  — 
Rouse  thee  and  look  ; 

Fisherman,  bring  your  net, 
Boatman  your  hook. 

Beat  in  the  lily-beds. 
Dive  in  the  brook  !  " 


III. 

Vainly  the  constable 
Shouted  and  called  her  ; 

Vainly  the  fisherman 
Beat  the  green  alder. 

Vainly  he  flung  the  net. 
Never  it  hauled  her  ! 


IV. 

Mother  beside  the  fire 

Sat,  her  nightcap  in  ; 
Father,  in  easy  chair. 

Gloomily  napping, 
When  at  the  window-sill 

Came  a  light  tapping  ! 

V. 

And  a  pale  countenance 

Looked  through  the  casement. 
Loud  beat  the  mother's  heart, 

Sick  with  amazement, 
And  at  the  vision  which 

Came  to  surprise  her, 
Shrieked  in  an  agony  — 

*'Lor!  it's  Elizar  !" 


VI. 

Yes,  'twas  Elizabeth  — 
Yes,  'twas  their  girl ; 

Pale  was  her  cheek,  and  her 
Hair  out  of  curl. 
Mother  !  "  the  loving  one, 
Blushing,  exclaimed, 
Let  not  your  innocent 
Lizzy  be  blamed. 

VII. 

**  Yesterday,  going  to  aunt 

Jones's  to  tea. 
Mother,  dear  mother,  I 

Forgot  the  door-key  ! 


TITMARSirS  CARMEN  LILLIENSE. 


311 


And  as  the  night  was  cold, 
And  the  way  steep, 

Mrs.  Jones  kept  me  to 
Breakfast  and  sleep." 


VIII. 

Whether  her  Pa  and  Ma 

Fully  believed  her, 
That  we  shall  never  know. 

Stern  they  received  her  ; 
And  for  the  work  of  that 

Cruel,  though  short,  night, 


Sent  her  to  bed  without 
Tea  for  a  fortnight. 

IX. 

MORAL. 

Hey  diddle  diddlety^ 
Cat  and  the  Fiddlety^ 
Maidens  of  England  take  caution  by 
she  ! 

Let  love  and  suicide 
Never  tem^Jt  you  aside, 
And  always  remember  to  take  the  door- 
key. 


LYEA  HIBERNICA. 

THE  POEMS  OF  THE  MOLONY  OF  KILBALLYMOLONY. 


THE  PIMLICO  PAVILION. 

Ye  pathrons  of  janius,  Minerva  and 
Vanius, 

Who  sit  on  Parnassus,  that  moun- 
tain of  snow, 
Descind  from  your  station  and  make 
observation 

Of  the  Prince's  pavilion  in  sweet 
Pimlico. 


This  garden,  by  jakurs,  is  forty  poor 
acres, 

(The  garner  he  tould  me,  and  sure 
ought  to  know  ; ) 
And  yet  greatly  bigger,  in  size  and  in 
figure, 

Than  the  Phanix  itself,  seems  the 
Park  Pimlico. 

0  'tis  there  that  the  spoort  is,  when 
the  Queen  and  the  Court  is 
Walking  magnanimous  all  of  a  row, 

Forgetful  what  state  is  among  the  pa- 
taties 

And  the  pine-apple  gardens  of  sweet 
Pimlico. 

There  in  blossoms  odorous  the  birds 
sing  a  chorus. 
Of  **  God  save  the  Queen"  as  they 
hop  to  and  fro  ; 
And  you  sit  on  the  binches  and  hark 
to  the  finches. 
Singing  melodious  in  sweet  Pimlico. 


There  shuiting  their  phanthasies,  they 
pluck  polyanthuses 
That  round  in  the  gardens  resplin- 
dently  grow, 
Wid  roses  and  jessimins,  and  other 
sweet  specimins, 
Would  charm  bould  Linnayus  in 
sweet  Pimlico. 

You  see  when  you  inther,  and  stand 
in  the  cinther, 
Where  the  roses,  and  necturns,  and 
collyfiowers  blow, 

A  hill  so  t rendu dous,  it  tops  the  top- 
windows 

Of  the  elegant  houses  of  famed  Pim- 
lico. 

And  when  you've  ascinded  that  preci- 
pice splindid 
You  see  on  its  summit  a  wondther- 
ful  show  — 
A  lovely  Swish  building,  all  painting 
and  gilding. 
The  famous  Pavilion  of  sweet  Pim- 
lico. 


Prince  Albert,  of  Flandthers,  that 
Prince  of  Commandthers, 
(On  whom  my  best  blessings  hereby 
I  bestow,) 
With  goold  and  vermilion  has  decked 
that  Pavilion, 
Where  the  Queen  may  take  tay  in 
her  sweet  Pimlico. 


LYRA  IIIBERNICA. 


313 


There's  lines  from  John  Milton  the 
chamber  all  gilt  on, 
And  pictures  beneath  them  that's 
sha})ed  like  a  bow  ; 
I  was  greatly  astounded  to  think  that 
that  Roundhead 
Should  find  an  admission  to  famed 
Pimlico. 

0  lovely's  each  fresco,  and  most  pic- 

turesque 0  ; 
And  while  round  the  chamber  as- 
tonished I  go, 

1  think  Dan  Maclise's  it  baits  all  the 

pieces 

Surrounding  the  cottage  of  famed 
Pimlico. 

Eastlake  has  the  chimney,  (a  good 
one  to  limn  he,) 
And  a  vargin  he  paints  with  a  sar- 
pent  below  ; 
While  bulls,  pigs,  and  panthers,  and 
other  enchanthers, 
Are  painted  by  Landseer  in  sweet 
Pimlico. 

And  nature  smiles  opposite,  Stanfield 
he  copies  it  ; 
O'er  Claude  or  Poussang  sure  'tis  he 
that  may  crow  : 
But  Sir  Ross's  best  faiture  is  small 
mini-ature  — 
He  shouldn't  paint  frescoes  in  famed 
Pimlico. 

There's  Leslie  and  Uwins  has  rather 
small  doings  ; 
There's  Dyce,  as  brave  masther  as 
England  can  show  ; 
And  the  flowers  and  the  sthrawberries, 
sure  he  no  dauber  is. 
That  painted  the  panels  of  famed 
Pimlico. 

In  the  ^ctures  from  Walther  Scott, 
never  a  fault  there's  got, 
Sure  the  marble's  as  natural  as  thrue 
Scaglio ; 

And  the  Chamber  Pompayen  is  sweet 
to  take  tay  in. 
And  ait  butther'd  muffins  in  sweet 
Pimlico. 


There's  landscapes  by  Oruner,  both 
solar  and  lunar. 
Them  two  little  Doyles  too,  deserve 
a  bravo  ; 

Wid  de  piece  by  young  Townsend,  (for 
janius  abounds  in't  ;) 
And  that's  why  he's  shuited  to  paint 
Pimlico. 

That  picture  of  Severn's  is  worthy  of 
rever'nce. 
But  some  I  won't  mintion  is  rather 
so  so ; 

For  sweet  philoso'phy,  or  crumpets 
and  coffee, 
0  Where's  a  Pavilion  like  sweet 
Pimlico  ? 

0  to  praise  this  Pavilion  would  puzzle 
Quintilian, 
Daymosthenes,  Brougham,  or  young 
Cicero  ; 

So  heavenly  Goddess,  d'ye  pardon  my 
modesty. 

And  silence,  my  lyre  !  about  sweet 
Pimlico. 


THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

With  ganial  foire 

Thransfuse  me  loyre. 
Ye  sacred  nympths  of  Pindus, 

The  whoile  I  sing 

That  wondthrous  thing. 
The  Palace  made  o'  windows  ! 

Say,  Paxton,  truth. 

Thou  wondthrous  youth. 
What  sthroke  of  art  celistial, 

What  power  was  lint 

You  to  invint 
This  combineetion  cristial. 

0  would  before 

That  Thomas  Moore, 
Likewoise  the  late  Lord  Boyron, 

Thim  aigies  sthrong 

Of  godlike  song. 
Cast  oi  on  that  cast  oiron  ! 


314 


BALLADS. 


And  saw  tliim  walls, 

And  glittering  halls, 
Thim  rising  slendther  columns. 

Which  I  poor  pote, 

Could  not  denote, 
No,  not  in  twinty  vollums. 

My  Muse's  words 

Is  like  the  bird's 
That  roosts  beneath  the  panes  there  ; 

Her  wing  she  spoils 

'Gainst  them  bright  toiles, 
And  cracks  her  silly  brains  there. 

This  Palace  tall, 

This  Cristial  Hall, 
"Which  Imperors  might  covet, 

Stands  in  High  Park 

Like  Noah's  Ark, 
A  rainbow  bint  above  it. 

The  towers  and  fanes. 

In  other  scaynes, 
The  fame  of  this  will  undo, 

Saint  Paul's  big  doom. 

Saint  Payther's  Room, 
And  Dublin's  proud  Rotundo. 

'Tis  here  that  roams. 

As  well  becomes 
Her  dignitee  and  stations, 

Victoria  Great, 

And  houlds  in  state 
The  Congress  of  the  Nations. 

Her  subjects  pours 

From  distant  shores. 
Her  Injians  and  Canajians  ; 

And  also  we, 

Her  kingdoms  three, 
Attind  with  our  allagiance. 

Here  come  likewise 

Her  bould  allies. 
Both  Asian  and  Europian  ; 

From  East  and  West 

They  send  their  best 
To  fill  her  Coornucopean. 

I  seen  (thank  Oracle  !) 
This  wonthrous  place 
(His  Noble  Honor  Misther 


H.  Cole  it  was 
That  gave  the  pass, 
And  let  me  see  what  is  there). 

With  conscious  proide 

I  stud  insoide 
And  look'd  the  World's  Great  Fair  in, 

Until  me  sight 

Was  dazzled  quite. 
And  couldn't  see  for  staring. 

There's  holy  saints 

And  window  paints. 
By  Maydiay val  Pugin ; 

Alhamborough  Jones 

Did  paint  the  tones 
Of  yellow  and  gambouge  in. 

There's  fountains  there 
And  crosses  fair  ; 
There's  water-gods  with  urrns  : 
There's  organs  three. 
To  play,  d'ye  see  ? 
God  save  the  Queen,"  by  turrns. 

There's  Statues  bright 

Of  marble  white, 
Of  silvei*,  and  of  copper  ; 

And  some  in  zinc. 

And  some,  I  think. 
That  isn't  over  proper. 

There's  staym  Ingynes, 

That  stands  in  lines, 
Enormous  and  amazing, 

That  squeal  and  snort 

Like  whales  in  sport, 
Or  elephants  a-grazing. 

There's  carts  and  gigs, 

And  pins  for  pigs, 
There's  dibblers  and  there's  harrows, 

And  ploughs  like  toys 

For  little  boys, 
And  ilegant  wheelbarrows.  • 

For  thim  genteels 

Who  ride  on  wheels, 
There's  i)lenty  to  indulge  'em  : 

There's  Droskys  snug 

From  Paytersbug, 
And  vayhycles  from  Bulgium. 


LYRA  HIBERNICA. 


315 


There's  Cabs  on  Stands 
And  Shandthry  danns  ; 
There's  Waggons   from   New  York 
here ; 

There's  Lapland  Sleighs 
Have  cross'd  the  seas, 
And  Jaunting  Cyars  from  Cork  here. 

Amazed  I  pass 

From  glass  to  glass, 
Deloighted  I  survey  'em  ; 

Fresh  wondthers  grows 

Before  me  nose 
In  this  sublime  Musayum ! 

Look,  here's  a  fan 

From  far  Japan, 
A  sabre  from  Damasco  : 

There's  shawls  ye  get 

From  far  Thibet, 
And  cotton  prints  from  Glasgow. 

There's  German  flutes, 

Marocky  boots, 
And  Naples  Macaronies  ; 

Bohaymia 

Has  sent  Bohay  ; 
Polonia  her  polonies. 

There's  granite  flints 

That's  quite  imminse. 
There's  sacks  of  coals  and  fuels. 

There's  swords  and  guns. 

And  soap* in  tuns. 
And  Gingerbread  and  Jewels. 

There's  taypots  there. 

And  cannons  rare  ; 
There's  coffins  fill'd  with  roses  ; 

There's  canvas  tints, 

Teeth  insthrumints. 
And  shuits  of  clothes  by  Moses. 

There's  lashins  more 

Of  things  in  store, 
But  thim  I  don't  remimber  ; 

Nor  could  disclose 

Did  I  compose 
From  May  time  to  Novimber  ! 

Ah,  Judy  thru  ! 
With  eyes  so  blue, 
That  you  were  here  to  view  it ! 


And  could  I  screw 
But  tu  pound  tu, 
'Tis  I  would  thrait  you  to  it  ! 

So  let  us  raise 

Victoria's  praise, 
And  Albert's  proud  condition, 

That  takes  his  ayse 

As  he  surveys 
This  Cristial  Exhibition. 

1851. 


MOLONY'S  LAMENT. 

0  Tim,  did  you  hear  of  thim  Saxons, 
And  read  what  the  peepers  report  ? 

They're  goan  to  recal  the  Liftinant, 
And  shut  up  the  Castle  and  Coort ! 

Our  desolate  counthry  of  Oireland, 
They're  bint,    the   blagyards,  to 
desthroy, 

And  noy^  having   murdthered  our 
counthry, 
They're  goin  to  kill  the  Viceroy, 

Dear  boy  ; 
'Twas  he  was  our  proide  and  our 
joy! 

And  will  we  no  longer  behould  him, 

Surrounding  his  carriage  in  throngs, 
As  he  weaves  his  cocked-hat  from  the 
windies. 

And  smiles  to  his  bould  aid-de- 
con  gs  ? 

1  liked  for  to  see  the  young  haroes, 
All  shoining  with  sthripes  and  with 

stars, 

A  horsing  about  in  the  Phaynix, 
And  winking  the  girls  in  the  cyars, 

Like  Mars, 
A  smokin'  their  poipes  and  cigyars. 

Dear  Mitchell  exoiled  to  Bermudies, 
Your  beautiful  oilids  you'll  ope, 

And  there'll  be  an  abondance  of  croyin* 
From  O'Brine  at  the  Keep  of  Good 
Hope, 

When  they  read  of  this  news  in  the 
peepers, 


316 


BALLADS. 


Acrass  the  Atlantical  wave, 
That  the  last  of  the  Oirish  Liftinints 
Of  theoislandof  Seents  has  tuck  lave. 
God  save 

The  Queen  —  she  should  betther 
behave. 

And  what's  to  become  of  poor  Dame 
Sthreet, 

And  who'll  ait  the  puffs  and  the  tarts, 
Whin  the  Coort  of  imparial  splindor 
From  Doblin's  sad  city  departs  ? 
And  who'll  have  the  fiddlers  and  pipers, 

When  the  deuce  of  a  Coort  there 
remains  ? 

And  where' 11  be  the  bucks  and  the 
ladies. 

To  hire  the  Coort-shuits  and  the 
thrains  ? 

In  sthrains, 
It's  thus  that  ould  Erin  complains  ! 

There's  Counsellor  Flanagan's  leedy 

'Twas  she  in  the  Coort  didn't  fail, 
And  she  wanted  a  plinty  of  popi)lin, 

For  her  dthress,  and  her  flounce, 
and  her  tail  ;  * 
She  bought  it  of  Misthress  O'Grady, 

Eight  shillings  a  yard  tabint3t, 
But  now  that  the  Coort  is  concluded, 

The  divvle  a  yard  will  she  ^et ; 
I  bet, 

Bedad,  that  she  wears  the  old  set. 

There's  Surgeon  O'Toole  and  Miss 
Leary, 

They'd  daylings  at  Madam  O'Riggs' ; 
Each   year  at   the  dthrawing-room 
sayson, 

They  mounted  the  neatest  of  wigs. 
When  Spring,  with  its  buds  and  its 
dasies. 

Comes  out  in  her  beauty  and  bloom, 
Thim  tu'U  never  think  of  new  jasies, 
Becase  there  is  no  dthrawing-room. 

For  whom 
They'd  choose  the  expense  to  ashume. 

There's  Alderman  Toad  and  his  lady, 
'Twas  they  gave  the  Clart  and  the 
Poort, 

And  the  poin(i-apj)les,  turbots,  and 
lobsters, 

To  feast  th(;  Lord  Liftinint's  Cooi  t. 


But  now  that  the  quality's  goin, 

I  warnt  that  the  aiting  will  stop, 
And  you'll  get  at  the  Alderman's  teeble 
The  devil  a  bite  or  a  dthrop. 

Or  chop ; 
And  the  butcher  may  shut  up  his 
shop. 

Yes,  the  grooms  and  the  ushers  are 
goin. 

And  his  Lordship,  the  dear  honest 
man. 

And  the  Duchess,  his  eemiable  leedy, 

And  Corry,  the  bould  Connellan, 
And  little  Lord  Hyde  and  the  child- 
thren, 

And  the  Chewter  and  Governess  tu  ; 
And  the  servants  are  packing  their 
boxes,  — 
Oh,  murther,  but  what  shall  I  due 

Without  you  ? 
0  Meery,  with  ois  of  the  blue  ' 


MR.   MOLONY'S   ACCOUNT  OF 
THE  BALL. 

GIVEN  TO  THE  NEPAULESE  AMBASSA- 
DOK  BY  THE  PENINSULAR  AND 
ORIENTAL  COMPANY. 

0  WILL  ye  choose  to  hear  the  news, 

Bedad  I  cannot  pass  it  o'er  : 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  the  Call 

To  the  Naypaulase  Ambassador. 
Begor  !  this  fete  all  balls  does  bate 

At  which  I've  worn  a  pump,  and  I 
Must  here  relate  the  splendthor  great 

Of  th'  Oriental  Company. 

These  men  of  sinse  dispoised  expinse, 
To  fete  these  ])lack  Achilleses. 
We'll  show  the  blacks,"  says  they, 

"  Almack's, 
And  take  the  rooms  at  Willis's." 
With  flags  and  shawls,  for  these  Ne- 
pauls. 

They  liung  the  rooms  of  Willis  up. 
And  decked  the  walls,  and  stairs,  and 
halls. 

With  roses  and  with  lilies  up. 

And  Jullien's  band  it  tuck  its  stand, 
So  sweetly  in  the  middle  there,' 


LYRA  HIBERNICA. 


317 


And  soft  bassoons  played  heavenly 

chimes, 
And  violins  did  fiddle  there. 
And  when  the  Coort  was  tired  of 

spoor  t, 

I'd  lave  you,  boys,  to  think  there 
was 

A  nate  buffet  before  them  set. 
Where  lashins  of  good  dhrink  there 
was. 

At  ten  before  the  ball-room  door. 
His  moighty  Excellincy  was, 

He  smoiled  and  bowed  to  all  the  crowd, 
So  gorgeous  and  immense  he  was. 

His  dusky  shuit,  sublime  and  mute, 
Into  the  door- way  followed  him  ; 

And  0  the  noise  of  the  blackguard 
boys, 

As  they  hurrood  and  hollowed  him  ! 

The  noble  Chair  *  stud  at  the  stair. 
And  bade  the  dthrums  to  thump  ; 
and  he 

Did  thus  evince,  to  that  Black  Prince, 
The  welcome  of  his  Company. 

0  fair  the  girls,  and  rich  the  curls, 
And  bright  the  oys  you  saw  there, 
was  ; 

And  fixed  each  oye,ye  there  could  spoi, 
On  Gineral  Jung  Bahawther,  was  ! 

This  Gineral  great  then  tuck  his  sate, 

With  all  the  other  ginerals, 
(Bedad  his  troat,  his  belt,  his  coat, 

All  bleezed  with  precious  minerals  ;) 
And  as  he  there,  with  princely  air, 

Recloinin  on  his  cushion  was. 
All  round  about  his  royal  chair 

The  squeezin  and  the  pushin  was. 

0  Pat, such  girls,such  Jukes,and  Earls, 
Such  fashion  and  nobilitee  ! 

Just  think  of  Tim,  and  fancy  him 
Amidst  the  hoigh  gentilitee  ! 

There  was  Lord  De  L'Huys,  and  the 
Portygeese 

*  James  Matheson,  Esq.,  to  whom, and  the 
Board  of  Directors  of  the  Peninsular  and 
Oriental  Company,  I,Timotheus  Molony,late 
stoker  on  board  the  "Iberia,"  the  "Lady 
Mary  Wood,"  the  "  Tagus,"  and  the  Oriental 
steamships,  humbly  dedicate  this  production 
of  my  grateful  muse. 


Ministher  and  his  lady  there. 
And  1  reckonized,  with  much  surprise. 
Our  messmate.  Bob  O'Grady,  there; 

There  was   Baroness   Brunow,  that 

looked  like  Juno, 
And  Baroness  Kehausen  there. 
And  Countess  RouUier,  that  looked 

peculiar 

Well,  in  her  robes  of  gauze  in  there. 
There  was  Lord  Crowhurst  (I  knew 
him  first. 

When  only  Mr.  Pips  he  was), 
And  Mick  O'Toole,  the  great  big  fool, 

That  after  supper  tipsy  was. 

There  was  Lord  Fingall,  and  his  la- 
dies all. 

And  Lords  Killeen  and  Dufferin, 
And  Paddy  Fife,  with  his  fat  wife  : 

I  wondtherhow  he  could  stuff' her  in. 
There  was  Lord  Belfast,  that  by  me 
past. 

And  seemed  to  ask  how  should  /  go 
there  ? 

And  the  Widow  Macrae,  and  Lord  A 
Hay, 

And  the  Marchioness  of  Sligo  there. 

Yes,  Jukes,  and  Earls,  and  diamonds, 

and  pearls. 
And  pretty  girls,  was  sporting  there ; 
And   some  beside    (the  rogues  !)  I 

spied. 

Behind  the  windies,  coorting  there. 
0  there's  one  1  know,  bedad  would 
show 

As  beautiful  as  any  there, 
And  I'd  like  to  hear  the  pipers  blow. 
And  shake  a  fut  with  Fanny  there  ! 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIMERICK. 

Ye  Genii  of  the  nation. 
Who  look  with  veneration. 
And  Ireland's  desolation  onsaj'singly 
deplore; 
Ye  sons  of  General  Jackson, 
Who  thrample  on  the  Saxon, 
Attend  to  the  thransaction  upon  Shan- 
non shore. 


318 


BALLADS. 


When  William,  Duke  of  Scliiimbug, 
A  tyrant  and  a  humbug, 
With  cannon  and  with  thunder  on  our 
city  bore. 
Our  fortitude  and  valiance 
Insthructed  his  battalions 
To  respict  the  galliant  Irish  upon 
Shannon  shore. 

Since  that  capitulation, 
No  city  in  this  nation 
So  grand  a  reputation  could  boast  be- 
fore, 

As  Limerick  prodigious. 
That  stands  with  quays  and  bridges. 
And  the  ships  up  to  the  windies  of 
the  Shannon  shore. 

A  chief  of  ancient  line, 
'Tis  William  Smith  0' Brine 
Reprisints  this  darling  Limerick,  this 
ten  years  or  more  : 
0  the  Saxons  can't  endure 
To  see  him  on  the  flure. 
And  thrimble  at  the  Cicero  from  Shan- 
non shore  ! 

This  valliant  son  of  Mars 
Had  been  to  visit  Par's, 
That  land  of  Revolution,  that  grows 
the  tricolor  ; 
And  to  welcome  his  returrn 
From  pilgrimages  furren. 
We  invited  him  to  tay  on  the  Shan- 
non shore. 

Then  we  summoned  to  our  board 
Young  Meagher ^f  the  sword  : 
'Tis  he  will  sheathe  that  battle-axe  in 
Saxon  gore  ; 
And  Mit('hil  of  Belfast 
We  bade  to  our  repast, 
To  dthrink  a  dish  of  coffee  on  the 
Shannon  shore. 

Convaniently  to  hould 
These  patriots  so  boukl. 
We  tuck  the  opportunity  of  Tim  Doo- 
lan's  store ; 
And  witli  ornamints  and  banners 
(As  becomes  giiitnh^  good  manners) 
We  made  tlie  loveliest  tay-room  upon 
Shannon  sliore 


'T  would  binifit  your  so  wis, 
To  see  the  butthered  rowls, 
The  sugar-tongs  and  sangwidges  and 
craim  galyore. 
And  the  muffins  and  the  crumpets, 
And  the  band  of  hearts  and  thrum- 
pets, 

To  celebrate  the  sworry  upon  Shannon 
shore. 

Sure  the  Imperor  of  Bohay 
Would  be  proud  to  dthrink  the  tay 
That   Misthress   Biddy   Kooney  for 
0' Brine  did  pour  ; 
And,  since  the  days  of  Strongbow, 
There  never  was  such  Congo  — 
Mitcliil  dthrank  six  quarts  of  it — by 
Shannon  shore. 

But  Clarndon  and  Corry 
Connellan  beheld  this  sworry 
With  rage  and  imulation  in  their 
black  hearts'  core  ; 
And  they  hired  a  gang  of  ruffins 
To  interrupt  the  muffins, 
And  the  fragrance  of  the  Congo  on  the 
Shannon  shore. 

When  full  of  tay  and  cake, 
0' Brine  began  to  spake  ; 
But  juice  a  one  could  hear  him,  for  a 
sudden  roar 
Of  a  ragamuffin  rout 
Began  to  yell  and  shout. 
And  frighten  the  propriety  of  Shan- 
non shore. 

As  Smith  0' Brine  harangued. 
They  batthered  and  they  banged  : 
Tim  Doolan's  doors  and  windies  down 
they  tore  ; 
They  smashed  the  lovely  windies 
(Hung  with  muslin  from  the  Indies), 
Purshuing   of  their  shindies  upon 
Shannon  shore. 

With  throwing  of  brickbats, 
Drowned  puppies  and  dead  rats, 
These  ruffin  democrats  themselves  did 
lower  ; 
Tin  kettles,  rotten  eggs. 
Cabbage-stalks,  and  wooden  legs. 
They  Ihiiig  among  the   patriots  of 
Shannon  shore. 


LYRA  HIBERNICA. 


319 


0  the  girls  began  to  scrame 
And  upset  the  milk  and  crame ; 
And  the  honorable  gintlemin,  they 
cursed  and  swore  : 
And  Mitchil  of  Belfast, 
'Twas  he  that  looked  aghast, 
When  they  roasted  him  in  effigy  by 
Shannon  shore. 

0  the  lovely  tay  was  spilt 
On  that  day  of  Ireland's  guilt  ; 
Says  Jack  Mitchil,  "  I  am  kilt!  Boys, 
where's  the  back  door  ? 
'Tis  a  national  disgi-ace  : 
Let  me  go  and  veil  me  face  ;  " 
And  he  boulted  with  quick  pace  from 
the  Shannon  shore. 

"  Cut  down  the  bloody  horde  !  " 
Says  Meagher  of  the  sword, 
"  This  conduct  would  disgrace  any 
black  am  ore  ;  " 
But  the  best  use  Tommy  made 
Of  his  famous  battle  blade 
Was  to  cut  his  own  stick  from  the 
Shannon  shore. 

Immortal  Smith  0' Brine 
Was  raging  like  a  line  ; 
'Twould  have  done  your  sowl  good  to 
have  heard  him  roar  ; 
In  his  glory  he  arose. 
And  he  rushed  upon  his  foes. 
But  they  hit  him  on  the  nose  by  the 
Shannon  shore. 

Then  the  Futt  and  the  Dthragoons 
In  squadthrons  and  platoons. 
With  their  music  playing  chunes, 
down  upon  us  bore  ; 
And  they  bate  the  rattatoo, 
But  the  Peelers  came  in  view. 
And  ended  the  shaloo  on  the  Shannon 
shore. 


LARRY  O'TOOLE. 

You've  all  heard  of  Larry  O'Toole, 
Of  the  beautiful  town  of  Drumgoole  ; 

He  had  but  one  eye. 

To  ogle  ye  by  — 
Oh,  murther,  but  that  was  a  jew'l  ! 

A  fool 

He  made  of  de  girls,  dis  O'Toole. 


'Twas  he  was  the  boy  didn't  fail. 
That  tuck  down  pataties  and  mail  ; 
He  never  would  shrink 
From  any  sthrong  dthrink. 
Was  it  whisky  or  Drogheda  ale  ; 
I'm  bail 

This  Larry  would  swallow  a  pail. 

Oh,  many  a  night  at  the  bowl. 
With  Larry  Lve  sot  cheek  by  jowl  ; 

He's  gone  to  his  rest, 

Where's  there's  dthrink  of  the  best, 
And  so  let  us  give  his  old  sowl 

A  howl, 

For  'twas  he  made  the  noggin  to  rowl. 


THE  ROSE  OF  FLORA. 

Sent  by  a  Young  Gentleman  of  Quality  to 
Miss  Br — dy^  of  Castle  Brady. 

On  Brady's  tower  there  grows  a  flower, 
It    is   the   loveliest    flower  that 
blows,  — 
At  Castle  Brady  there  lives  a  laay, 

(And  how  I  love  her  no  one  knows) ; 
Her  name  is  Nora,  and  the  goddess 
Flora 

Presents  her  with  this  blooming  rose. 

"0  Liidy  Nora,"  says  the  goddess 
Flora, 

"I've  many  a  rich  and  bright  par- 
terre ; 

In  Brady's  towers  there's  seven  more 
flowers. 

But  you're  the  fairest  lady  there  : 
Not  all  the  county,  nor  Ireland's 
bounty. 

Can  projuice  a  treasure  that's  half 
so  fair  !  " 

What  cheek  is  redder  ?  sure  roses  fed 
her  ! 

Her  hair  is  maregolds,  and  her  eye 
of  blew. 

Beneath  her  eyelid,  is  like  the  vi'let, 
That  darkly  glistens  with  gentle  jew  ! 

The  lily's  nature  is  not  sureh-  whiter 
Than  Nora's  neck  is,  —  and  her 
arrums  too. 


320 


BALLADS. 


Come,  gentle  Nora,"  says  the  goddess 
Flora, 

"  My  dearest  creature,  take  my  ad- 
vice. 

There  is  a  poet,  full  well  you  know  it, 
Who  spends  his  lifetime  in  heavy 
sighs,  — 

^oung  Redmond  Barry,  'tis  him  you'll 
marry. 

If  rhyme  and  raisin  you'd  choose 
likewise." 


THE  LAST  IRISH  GRIEVANCE. 

On  reading  of  the  general  indignation  oc- 
casioned in  Ireland  by  the  appointment  of  a 
Scotch  Professor  to  one  of  HfiR  Majesty's 
Godless  Colleges,  Master  Molloy  Molony, 
brother  of  Thaddeus  Molony,  Esq.,  of  the 
Temple,  a  youth  only  fifteen  years  of  age, 
dashed  off  the  following  spirited  lines :  — 

As  I  think  of  the  insult  that's  done  to 
this  nation, 
Red  tears  of  rivinge  from  me  fatures 
I  wash. 

And  uphold  in  this  pome,  to  the  world's 
daytistation. 
The  sleeves  that  appointed  Profes- 
sor M'CosH. 

I  look  round  me  counthree,  renowned 
by  exparience. 
And  see  midst  her  childthren,  the 
witty,  the  wise,  — 
Whole  hayps  of  logicians,  potes,  schol- 
lars,  grammarians. 
All  ayger  for  pleeces,  all  panting  to 
rise  ; 

I  gaze  round  the  world  in  its  utmost 
diminsion  ; 
Lard  Jahn  and  his  minions  in 
Council  I  ask. 
Was  there  ever  a  Oovernment-pleece 
(with  a  pinsion) 
But  children  of  Erin  were  fit  for  that 
task? 


What,  Erin  beloved,  is  thy  fetal  con- 
dition ? 

What  shame  in  aych  boosom  must 
rankle  and  burrun. 
To  think  that  our  countree  has  ne'er  a 
logician 

In  the  hour  of  her  deenger  will 
surrev  her  turrun  ! 

On  the  logic  of  Saxons  there's  little 
reliance, 

And,  rather  from  Saxons  than  gather 
its  rules, 

I'd  stamp  under  feet  the  base  book  of 
his  science. 
And  spit  on  his  chair  as  he  taught 
in  the  schools ! 

0  false  Sir  John  Kane  !  is  it  thus 
that  you  praych  me  ? 
I  think  all  your  Queen's  Universi- 
tees  Bosh  ; 
And  if  you've  no  neetive  Professor  to 
taych  me, 
I  scawurn  to  be  learned  by  the  Saxon 
M'CosH. 

There's  Wiseman  and  Chumk,  and  His 
Grace  the  Lord  Primate, 
That  sinds  round  the  box,  and  the 
world  will  subscribe  ; 
'Tis  they'll  build  a  College  that's  fit 
for  our  climate. 
And  taych  me  the  say  ere  ts  I  burn 
to  imboibe  ! 

'Tis  there  as  a  Student  of  Science  I'll 
enther, 

Fair  Fountain  of  Knowledge,  of  Joy, 

and  Con  tint  ! 
Saint  Pathrick's  sweet  Statue  shall 

stand  in  the  centher, 
And  wink  his  dear  oi  every  day 

during  Lint. 

And  good  Doctor  Newman,  that 
praycher  unwary, 
'Tis  he  shall  preside  the  Academee 
School, 

And  quit  the  gay  robe  of  St.  Philip 
of  Neri, 

To  wield  the  soft  rod  of  St.  Law- 
rence O'TOOLE  ! 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


THE  WOLFE  NEW  BALLAD  OF 
JANE  RONEY  AND  MARY 
BROWN. 

An  igstrawnary  tail  I  vill  tell  you  this 
veek  — 

I  stood  in  the  Court  of  A'Beckett  the 
Beak, 

Vere  Mrs.  Jane  Roney,  a  vidow,  I  see, 
Who  charged  Mary  Brown  with  a  rob- 
bin  of  she. 

This  Mary  was  pore  and  in  misery  once, 
And  she  came  to  Mrs.  Roney  it's  more 

than  twelve  nionce. 
She  adn't  got  no  bed,  nor  no  dinner 

nor  no  tea, 
And  kind  Mrs.  Roney  gave  Mary  all 

three. 

Mrs.  Roney  kep  Mary  for  ever  so 

many  veeks, 
(Her  conduct  disgusted  the  best  of  all 

Beax,) 

She  kep  her  for  nothink,  as  kind  as 
could  be, 

Never  thin  kin  that  this  Mary  was  a 
traitor  to  she. 

"  Mrs.  Roney,  0  Mrs.  Roney,  I  feel 
very  ill  ; 

Will  you  just  step  to  the  Doctor's  for 

to  fetch  me  a  pill  ?*' 
**That  I  will,  my  pore  Mary,"  Mrs. 

Roney  says  she  ; 
And  she  goes  olf  to  the  Doctor's  as 

quickly  as  may  be. 


No  sooner  on  this  message  Mrs.  Roney 
was  sped, 

Than  hup  gits  vicked  Mary,  and  jumps 

out  a  bed  ; 
She  hopens  all  the  trunks  without 

never  a  key  — 
She  bustes  all  the  boxes,  and  vith  them 
makes  free. 


Mrs.  Roney's  best  linning,  gownds, 

petticoats,  and  close, 
Her  children's  little  coats  and  things, 

her  boots,  aud  her  hose. 
She  packed  them,  and  she  stole  'em, 

and  avay  vith  them  did  flee. 
Mrs.  Roney's   situation  —  you  may 

think  vat  it  vould  be  ! 


Of  Mary,  ungrateful,  who  had  served 
her  this  vay, 

Mrs.  Roney  heard  nothink  for  a  long 
year  and  a  day. 

Till  last  Thursday,  in  Lambeth,  ven 
whom  should  she  see 

But  this  Mary,  as  had  acted  so  un- 
grateful to  she  ? 


She  was  leaning  on  the  helbo  of  a 

worthy  young  man. 
They  were  going  to  be  married,  and 

were  walkin  hand  in  hand  ; 
And  the  Church  bells  was  a  ringing 

for  Mary  and  he, 
And  the  parson  was  read}',  and  a  wait  in 

for  his  fee. 


21 


322 


BALLADS. 


When  up  comes  Mrs.  Roney,  and  faces 

Mary  Brown, 
Who  trembles,  and  castes  her  eyes 

upon  the  ground. 
She  calls  a  jolly  pleaseman,  it  happens 

to  be  me  ; 
I  charge   this   young  woman,  Mr. 

Pleaseman,  says  she. 

*'Mrs.  Roney,  o,  Mrs.  Roney,  o,  do 

let  me  go, 
I  acted  most  ungrateful  I  own,  and  I 

know, 

But  the  marriage  bell  is  a  ringin,  and 

the  ring  you  may  see, 
And  this  young  man  is  a  waitin,"  says 

Mary  says  she. 

"  I  don't  care  three  fardens  for  the 

parson  and  dark, 
And  the  bell  may  keep  ringin  from 

noon  day  to  dark. 
Mary  Brown,  Mary  Brown,  you  must 

come  along  with  me  ; 
And  I  think  this  young  man  is  lucky 

to  be  free." 

So,  in  spite  of  the  tears  which  bejew'd 

Mary's  cheek, 
I  took  that  young  gurl  to  A' Beckett 

the  Beak  ; 
That  exlent  Justice   demanded  her 

plea  — 

But  never  a  sullable  said  Mary  said 
she. 

On  account  of  her  conduck  so  base  and 
so  vile. 

That  wicked  young  gurl  is  committed 
for  trile. 

And  if  she's  transpawted  beyond  the 
salt  sea. 

It's  a  proper  reward  for  such  williaiis 
as  she. 

Now  you  young  gurls  of  Southwark 

for  Mary  who  veep, 
From  pick  in  and  stealin  your  ands 

you  must  keey>. 
Or  it  may  be  my  dooty,  as  it  was 

Thursday  veek. 
To  pull  you  all  hup  to  A'Beckett  the 

Beak. 


THE  THREE  CHRISTMAS 
WAITS. 

My  name  is  Pleaceman  X  ; 

Last  night  I  was  in  bed, 
A  dream  did  me  perplex. 

Which  came  into  my  Edd. 
1  dreamed  I  sor  three  Waits 

A  playing  of  their  tune, 
At  Pimlico  Palace  gates, 

All  underneath  the  moon. 
One  puffed  a  hold  French  horn, 

And  one  a  hold  Banjo, 
And  one  chap  seedy  and  torn 

A  H  Irish  pipe  did  blow. 
They  sadly  piped  and  played, 

Dexcribing  of  their  fates  ; 
And  this  was  what  they  said, 

Those  three  pore  Christmas  Waits  :  - 

' '  When  this  black  year  began, 

This  Eighteen-forty-eight, 
1  was  a  great  great  man, 

And  king  both  vise  and  great, 
And  Munseer  Guizot  by  me  did  show 

As  Minister  of  State. 

' '  But  Febuwerry  came, 
And  brought  a  rabble  rout. 

And  me  and  my  good  dame 
And  children  did  turn  out, 

And  us,  in  spite  of  all  our  right, 
Sent  to  the  right  about. 

"  I  left  my  native  ground, 

I  left  my  kin  and  kith, 
I  left  my  royal  crownd, 

Vich  I  couldn't  travel  vith. 
And  without  a  pound  came  to  English 
ground. 

In  the  name  of  Mr.  Smith. 

"  Like  any  anchorite 

I've  lived  since  I  came  here, 
I've  kep  myself  quite  quite, 

I've  drank  the  small  small  beer,  ^ 
And  the  vater,  you  see,  disagrees  vith 
me 

And  all  my  famly  dear. 

**  O  Tweeleries  so  dear, 

0  darling  Pally  Royl, 
Vas  it  to  finish  here 

That  I  did  trouble  and  toyi  ? 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


323 


That  all  my  plans  should  break  in  my 
an  (Is, 

And  should  on  me  recoil  ? 

**  My  state  I  fenced  about 
Vith  baynicks  and  vith  guns  ; 

My  gals  I  portioned  hout, 
Rich  vives  1  got  my  sons  ; 

0  varn't  it  crule  to  lose  my  rule, 
My  money  and  lands  at  once  ? 

**  And  so,  vith  arp  and  woice, 
Both  troubled  and  shagreened, 

1  bid  you  to  rejoice, 

0  glorious  England's  Queerid! 
And  never  have  to  veep,  like  pore 

Louis-Phileep, 
Because  you  out  are  cleaned. 

"  0  Prins,  so  brave  and  stout, 

1  stand  before  your  gate  ; 
Pray  send  a  trifle  hout 

To  me,  your  pore  old  Vait ; 
For  nothink  could  be  vuss  than  it's 
been  along  vith  us 
In  this  year  Forty-eight." 

**  Ven  this  bad  year  began," 

Tke  nex  man  said,  say  see, 
**  I  vas  a  Journeyman, 

A  taylor  black  and  free. 
And  my  wife  went  out  and  chaired 
about. 

And  my  name's  the  bold  CufFee. 

"  The  Queen  and  Halbert  both 
I  swore  I  would  confound, 

I  took  a  hawfle  hoath 

To  drag  them  to  the  ground  ; 

And  sevral  more  with  me  they  swore 
Aginst  the  British  Crownd. 

**  Aginst  her  Pleacemen  all 
We  said  we'd  try  our  strenth  ; 

Her  scarlick  soldiers  tall 

We  vow'd  we'd  lay  full  lenth  : 

And   out   we   came,   in  Freedom's 
name, 

Last  Aypril  was  the  tenth. 

Three  'undred  thousand  snobs 
Came  out  to  stop  the  vay, 
Yith  sticks  vith  iron  knobs, 


Or  else  we'd  gained  the  day. 
The  harmy  quite  kept  out  of  sight, 
And  so  ve  vent  avay. 

*'  Next  day  the  Pleacemen  came  — 
Kewenge  it  was  their  plann  — 

And  from  my  good  old  (lame 
They  took  her  tailor-mann  : 

And  the  hard  hard  beak  did  me  be- 
speak 

To  Newgit  in  the  Wann. 

In  that  etrocious  Cort 

The  Jewry  did  agree  ; 
The  Judge  did  me  transport, 

To  go  beyond  the  sea  : 
And  so  for  life,  from  his  dear  wife 

They  took  poor  old  Cuffee. 

"  0  Halbert,  Appy  Prince  ! 

With  children  round  your  knees, 
Ingraving  an  sum  Prints, 

And  taking  hoff  your  hease  ; 
0  think  of  me,  the  old  Cuffee, 

Beyond  the  solt  solt  seas  ! 

"  Although  I'm  hold  and  black, 
My  lianguish  is  most  great  ; 

Great  Prince,  0  call  me  back. 
And  1  vill  be  your  V ait  ! 

And  never  no  more  vill  break  the  Lor, 
As  I  did  in  'Forty-eight." 

The  tailer  thus  did  close 

(A  pore  old  blackymore  rogue). 

When  a  dismal  gent  uprose, 
And  spoke  with  Hirish  brogue  : 
I'm  Smith  O'Brine,  of  Royal  Line, 
Descended  from  Rory  Ogue. 

"  When  great  0' Connie  died. 
That  man  whom  all  did  trust. 

That  man  whom  Henglish  pride 
Beheld  with  such  disgust. 

Then  Erin  free  fixed  eyes  on  me, 
And  swoar  I  should  l)e  fust. 

'  The  glorious  Hirish  Crown,' 

Says  she,  'it  shall  be  thine  : 
Long  time,  it's  wei-y  well  known, 

You  kep  it  in  your  line  ; 
That  diadem  of  hemerald  gem 

Is  yours,  my  Smith  O'Brine, 


324 


BALLADS. 


'  Too  long  the  Saxon  churl 
Our  laud  encumbered  hath  ; 

Arise  my  Prince,  my  Earl, 

And  brush  them  from  thy  path  : 

Kise,  mightv  Smith,  and  sveep  'em 
vith" 

The  besom  of  your  wrath.* 


**  Then  in  my  might  I  rose, 

My  country  I  surveyed, 
I  saw  it  filled  with  foes, 

I  viewed  them  undisma\^ed  ; 
*  Ha,  ha  ! '  says  I,  '  the  harvest's  high, 

I'll  reap  it  with  my  blade.' 

"  My  warriors  I  enrolled, 

They  rallied  round  their  lord  ; 

And  cheafs  in  council  old 
1  summoned  to  the  board  — 

Wise  Doheny  and  Duffy  bold. 
And  Meagher  of  the  Sword. 

**  I  stood  on  Slievenamaun, 

They  came  with  pikes  and  bills  ; 

They  gathered  in  the  dawn, 
Like  mist  upon  the  hills. 

And  rushed  adown  the  mountain  side 
Like  twenty  thousand  rills. 

**  Their  fortress  we  assail  ; 

HuiToo  !  my  boys,  hurroo  ! 
The  bloody  Saxons  quail 

To  hear  the  wild  Shaloo  : 
Strike,  and  prevail,  proud  Innesfail, 

O'Brine  aboo,  aboo  ! 


Our  people  they  defied  ; 

They  shot  at  'em  like  savages. 
Their  bloody  guns  they  plied 

With  sanguinary  ravages  : 
Hide,  blushing  Glory,  hide 

That  day  among  the  cabbages  ! 


And  so  no  more  I'll  say, 

But  ask  your  Mussy  great, 
And  humbly  sing  and  pray, 

Your  Majesty's  poor  Wait  : 
Your  Smith  O'Brine  in  'Forty-nine 

Will  blush  for 'Forty-eight." 


LINES  ON  A  LATE  HOSPICIOUS 
EWENT.* 

BY  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  THE  FOOT- 
GUARDS  (blue). 

I  PACED  upon  my  beat 

With  steady  step  and  slow, 

All  huppandownd  of  Ranelagh  Street ; 
Ran'lagh  St.  Pimlico. 

While  marching  huppandownd 
Upon  that  fair  May  morn, 

Beold  the  booming  cannings  sound, 
A  royal  child  is  born  ! 

The  Ministers  of  State 

Then  presnly  I  sor, 
They  gallops  to  the  Pallis  gate. 

In  carridges  and  for. 

With  anxious  looks  intent. 

Before  the  gate  they  stop. 
There  comes  the  good  Lord  President, 

And  there  the  Archbishopp. 

Lord  John  he  next  elights  ; 

And  who  com^s  here  in  haste  ? 
'Tis  the  ero  of  one  underd  fights, 

The  caudle  for  to  taste. 

Then  Mrs.  Lily,  the  nuss. 

Towards  them  steps  with  joy  ; 
Says  the  brave  old  Duke,  '*  Come  tell 
to  us, 

Is  it  a  gal  or  a  boj'  ? " 

Says  Mrs.  L.  to  the  Duke, 
"  Your  Grace,  it  is  a  Prince" 

And  at  that  nuss's  bold  rebuke. 
He  did  both  laugh  and  wince. 

He  vews  with  pleasant  look 

This  pooty  flower  of  May, 
Then,  says  the  wenerable  Duke, 

*'  Egad,  it's  my  buthday." 

By  memory  backwards  borne, 
Peraps  his  thoughts  did  stray 

To  that  old  place  where  he  was  born. 
Upon  the  first  of  May. 

*'  The  birth  of  Prince  Arthur. 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


325 


Perhaps  he  did  recal 

The  ancient  towers  of  Trim  ; 
And  County  Meath  and  Dangan  Hall 

They  did  rewisit  him. 

I  phansy  of  him  so 

His  good  old  thoughts  employin'  ; 
Fourscore  years  and  one  ago 

Beside  the  llowin'  Boyne. 

His  father  praps  he  sees, 

Most  Musicle  of  Lords, 
A  playing  maddrigles  and  glees 

Upon  the  Arpsicords. 

Jest  phansy  this  old  Ero 

Upon  his  mother's  knee  ! 
Did  ever  lady  in  this  land 

Ave  greater  sons  than  she  ? 

And  I  shoudn  be  surprize 
While  this  was  in  his  mind, 

If  a  drop  there  twinkled  in  his  eyes 
Of  unfamiliar  brind. 

To  Hapsly  Ouse  next  day 
Drives  up  a  Broosh  and  for, 

A  gracious  prince  sits  in  that  Shay 
(I  mention  him  with  Hor  !) 

They  ring  upon  the  bell. 

The  Porter  shows  his  Ed, 
(He  fought  at  Vaterloo  as  veil. 

And  vears  a  Veskit  red). 

To  see  that  carriage  come. 
The  people  round  it  press  : 

"  And  is  the  galliant  Duke  at  ome  ?  " 
"Your  Royal  Ighness,  yes." 

He  stepps  from  out  the  Broosh 

And  in  the  gate  is  gone  ; 
And  X,  although  the  people  push, 

Says  wery  kind,  "  Move  hon." 

The  Royal  Prince  unto 
The  galliant  Duke  did  say, 

"  Dear  Duke,  my  little  son  and  you 
Was  born  the  self  same  day. 

"  The  Lady  of  the  land, 
My  wife  and  Sovring  dear. 

It  is  by  her  horgust  command 
I  wait  upon  you  here. 


"  That  lady  is  as  well 

As  can  expected  be  ; 
And  to  your  Grace  she  bid  me  tell 

This  gracious  message  free. 

That  offspring  of  our  race, 
Whom  yesterday  you  see. 
To  show  our  honor  for  your  Grace, 
Prince  Arthur  he  shall  be. 

That  name  it  rhymes  to  fame  ; 
All  Europe  knows  the  sound  : 
And  1  couldn't  find  a  better  name 
If  you'd  give  me  twenty  pound. 

"  King  Arthur  had  his  knights 
That  girt  his  table  round, 

But  you  have  won  a  hundred  fights, 
Will  match  'em  I'll  be  bound. 

**  You  fought  with  Bonypart, 
And  likewise  Tippoo  Saib  ; 

I  name  you  then  with  all  my  heart 
The  Godsire  of  this  babe." 

That  Prince  his  leave  was  took, 
His  hinterview  was  done. 

So  let  us  give  the  good  old  Duke 
Good  luck  of  his  god-son. 

And  wish  him  years  of  joy 
In  this  our  time  of  Schism, 

And  hope  he'll  hear  the  royal  boy 
His  little  catechism. 

And  my  pooty  little  Prince 
That's  come  our  arts  to  cheer. 

Let  me  my  loyal  powers  e wince 
A  welcomin  of  you  ere. 

And  the  Poit-Laureat's  crownd, 

I  think,  in  some  respex, 
Egstremely  shootable  might  be  found 

For  honest  Pleaseman  X. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ELIZA  DAVIS. 

Galliant  gents  and  lovely  ladies. 

List  a  tail  vich  late  befel, 
Yich  I  heard  it,  bein  on  duty, 

At  the  Pleace  HoflSce,  Clerkenwell. 


326 


BALLADS. 


Praps  you  know  the  Fondling  Chapel, 
Vere  the  little  children  sings  : 

(Lor  !  1  likes  to  hear  on  Sun  dies 
Them  there  pooty  little  things  ! 

In  this  street  there  lived  a  housemaid, 
If  you  particklarly  ask  me  where  — 

Yy,  it  vas  at  four-and-tventy 

Guilford    Street,    by  Brunsvick 
Square. 

Yich  her  name  was  Eliza  Davis, 
And  she  went  to  fetch  the  beer  : 

In  the  street  she  met  a  party 

As  was  quite  surprized  to  see  her. 

Vich  he  vas  a  British  Sailor, 
For  to  judge  him  by  his  look  : 

Tarry  jacket,  canvass  trowsies, 
Ha-la  Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke. 

Presently  this  Mann  accostes 
Of  this  hinnocent  young  gal  — 

**  Pray,"  saysee,    excuse  my  freedom. 
You're  so  like  my  Sister  Sal ! 

*'  You're  so  like  my  Sister  Sally, 
Both  in  valk  and  face  and  size. 

Miss,  that —  dang  my  old  lee  scuppers, 
It  brings  tears  into  my  heyes  !  " 

"I'm  a  mate  on  board  a  wessel, 
I'm  a  sailor  bold  and  true  ; 

Shiver  up  my  poor  old  timbers, 
Let  me  be  a  mate  for  you  ! 

"  What's  your  name,  my  beauty,  tell 
me  ; " 

And  she  faintly  hansers,  "  Lore, 
Sir,  my  name's  Eliza  Davis, 
And  I  live  at  tvcnty-four." 

Hoftimes  came  this  British  seaman. 

This  deluded  gal  to  meet  ; 
And  at  tventy-four  was  welcome, 

Tventy-four  in  Guilford  Street. 

And  Eliza  told  her  Master 

(Kinder  they  than  Missuses  are). 

How  in  niai  ridge  he  had  ast  her. 
Like  a  galliant  Brittish  Tar. 


And  he  brought  his  landlady  vith 
him, 

(Yich  vas  all  his  hartful  plan), 
And  she  told  how  Charley  Thompson 
Reely  vas  a  good  young  man. 

And  how  she  herself  had  lived  in 
Many  years  of  union  sweet, 

Yith  a  gent  she  met  promiskous, 
Yalkin  in  the  public  street. 

And  Eliza  listened  to  them, 

And  she  thought  that  soon  their 
bands 

Yould  be  published  at  the  Fondlin, 
Hand  the  clergymen  jine  their  ands. 

And  he  ast  about  the  lodgers, 

(Yich  her  master  let  some  rooms), 
Like  vise  vere  they  kep  their  things, 
and 

Yere  her  master  kep  his  spoons. 

Hand  this  vicked  Charley  Thompson 
Came  on  Sundy  veek  to  see  her  ; 

And  he  sent  Eliza  Davis 
Hout  to  fetch  a  pint  of  beer. 

Hand  while  pore  Eliza  vent  to 
Fetch  the  beer,  dewoid  of  sin, 

This  etrocious  Cliarley  Thompson 
Let  his  wile  accomplish  hin. 

To  the  lodgers,  their  apartments, 
This  abandingd  female  goes, 

Prigs  their  shirts  and  umberellas  ; 
Prigs  their  boots,  and  hats,  and 
clothes. 

Yile  the  scoundrel  Charley  Thompson, 
Lest  his  wictim  should  escape, 

Hocust  her  vith  rum  and  vater. 
Like  a  fiend  in  huming  shape. 

But  a  hi  was  fixt  upon  'em 
Yich  these  raskles  little  sore  ; 

Namely,  Mr.  Hide,  the  landlord 
Of  the  house  at  tventy-four. 

He  vas  valkin  in  his  garden, 

Just  afore  he  vent  to  sup  ; 
And  on  looking  up  he  sor  the 

Lodgers'  vinders  lighted  hup. 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X.  327 


Hup  the  stairs  the  landlord  tumbled  ; 

Something's  going  wrong,  he  said  ; 
And  he  caught  the  vicked  voman 

Underneath  the  lodgers'  bed. 

And  he  called  a  brother  Pleaseman, 
Vich  vas  passing  on  his  beat ; 

Like  a  true  and  galliant  feller, 
Hup  and  down  in  Guilford  Street. 

And  that  Pleaseman  able-bodied 
Took  this  voman  to  the  cell  ; 

To  the  cell  vere  she  was  quodded, 
In  the  Close  of  Clerkenwell. 

And  though  vicked  Charley  Thompson 
Boulted  like  a  miscrant  base. 

Presently  another  Pleaseman 
Took  him  to  the  self-same  place. 

And  this  precious  pair  of  raskles 
Tuesday  last  came  up  for  doom  ; 

By  the  beak  they  was  committed, 
Vich  his  name  was  Mr.  Combe. 

Has  for  poor  Eliza  Davis, 
Simple  gurl  of  tventy-four, 

She  I  ope,  vill  never  listen 
In  the  streets  to  sailors  moar. 

But  if  she  must  ave  a  sweet-art, 
(Vich  most  every  gurl  expex,) 

Let  her  take  a  jolly  pleaseman  ; 
Vich  his  name  peraps  is  —  X. 


DAMAGES,  TWO  HUNDRED 
POUNDS. 

Special  Jurymen  of  England  !  who 
admire  your  country's  laws, 

And  proclaim  a  British  Jury  worthy 
of  the  realm's  applause  ; 

Gayly  compliment  each  other  at  the 
issue  of  a  cause 

"Which  was  tried  at  Guildford  'sizes, 
this  day  week  as  ever  was. 

Unto  that  august  tribunal  comes  a 

gentleman  in  grief, 
(Special  was  the  British  Jury,  and  the 

Judge,  the  Baron  Chief,) 


Comes  a  British  man  and  husband  — 

asking  of  the  law  relief, 
For  his  wife  was  stolen  from  him  — 
he'd  have  vengeance  on  the 
thief. 

Yes,  his  wife,  the  blessed  treasure  with 
the  which  his  life  was  crowned, 

Wickedly  was  ravished  from  him  by  a 
hypocrite  profound. 

And  he  comes  before  twelve  Britons, 
men  for  sense  and  truth  re- 
nowned, 

To  award  him  for  his  damage,  twenty 
hundred  sterling  pound. 

He  by  counsel  and  attorney  there  at 
Guildford  does  appear. 

Asking  damage  of  the  villain  who  se- 
duced his  lady  dear  : 

But  I  can't  help  asking,  though  the 
lady's  guilt  was  all  too  clear, 

And  though  guilty  the  defendant, 
wasn't  the  plaintiff  rather 
queer  ? 

First  the  lady's  mother  spoke,  and 
said  she'd  seen  her  daughter 
cry 

But  a  fortnight  after  marriage  :  early 

times  for  piping  eye. 
Six  months  after,  things  were  worse, 

and  the  piping  eye  was  black, 
And  this   gallant   British  husband 

caned  his  wife  upon  the  back. 

Three  months  after  they  were  married, 
husband  pushed  her  to  the 
door. 

Told  her  to  be  off  and  leave  him,  for 
he  wanted  her  no  more. 

As  she  would  not  go,  why  he  went  : 
thrice  he  left  his  lady  dear ; 

Left  her,  too,  without  a  penny,  for 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  year. 

Mrs.  Frances  Duncan  knew  the  par- 
ties very  well  indeed. 

She  had  seen  him  pull  his  lady's  nose 
and  make  her  lip  to  bleed  ; 

If  he  chanced  to  sit  at  home  not  a 
single  word  he  said  : 

Once  she  saw  him  throw  the  cover  of 
a  dish  at  his  lady's  head. 


328 


BALLADS. 


Sarah  Green,  another  witness,  clear 

did  to  the  jury  note 
How  she  saw  this  honest  fellow  seize 

his  lady  by  the  throat, 
How  he  cursed  her  and  abused  her, 

beating  her  into  a  fit. 
Till  the  pitying  next-door  neighbors 
crossed  the  wall  and  witnessed  it. 

Next  door  to  this  injured  Briton  Mr. 

Owers  a  butcher  dwelt ; 
Mrs.  Owers's  foolish  heart  towards 

this  erring  dame  did  melt ; 
(Not  that  she  had  erred  as  yet,  crime 

was  not  developed  in  her). 
But  being  left  without  a  penny,  Mrs. 

Owers  supplied  her  dinner  — 
God  be  merciful  to  Mrs.  Owers,  who 

was  merciful  to  this  sinner  i 

Caroline  Naylor  was  their  servant, 

said  they  led  a  wretched  life. 
Saw  this  most  distinguished  Briton 

fling  a  teacup  at  his  wife  ; 
He  went  out  to  balls  and  pleasures, 

and  never  once,  in  ten  months' 

space. 

Sat  with  his  wife  or  spoke  her  kindly. 
This  was  the  defendant's  case. 

Pollock,  C.B.,  charged  the  Jury  ;  said 

the  woman's  guilt  was  clear  : 
That  was  not  the  point,  however, 

which  the  Jury  came  to  hear  ; 
But  the  damage  to  determine  which, 

as  it  should  true  appear, 
This  most  tender-hearted  husband, 

who  so  used  his  lady  dear  — 

Beat  her,  kicked  her,  caned  her,  cursed 
her,  left  her  starving,  year  by 
year, 

Flung  her  from  him,  parted  from  hei, 
wrung  her  neck,  and  boxed  h(3r 
ear  — 

What  the  reasonable  damage  this  af- 
flicted man  could  claim. 

By  the  loss  of  the  aflections  of  this 
guilty  graceless  dame  ? 

Then  the  honest  British  Twelve,  to 
each  other  turning  round. 

Laid  their  clever  heads  together  with 
a  wisdom  most  profound  : 


And  towards  his  Lordship  looking, 

spoke  the  foreman  wise  and 

sound  ;  — 
'*My  Lord,  we  find  for  this  here 

plaintiff',  damages  two  hundred 

pound." 

So,  God  bless  the  Special  Jury  !  pride 

and  joy  of  English  ground, 
And  the  happy  land  of  England,  where 

true  justice  does  abound  ! 
British  jurymen  and  husbands,  let  us 

hail  this  verdict  proper  : 
If  a  British  wife  offends  you,  Britons, 

you've  a  right  to  whop  her. 

Though  you  promised  to  protect  her, 
though  you  promised  to  defend 
her. 

You  are  welcome  to  neglect  her:  to 
the  devil  you  may  send  her: 

You  may  strike  her,  curse,  abuse  her  ; 
so  declares  our  law  renowned  ; 

And  if  after  this  you  lose  her, —  why, 
you're  paid  two  hundred  pound. 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY. 

There's  in  the  Vest  a  city  pleasant 
To  vich  King  Bladud  gev  his  name, 

And  in  that  city  there's  a  Crescent 
Vere  dwelt  a  noble  knight  of  fame. 

Although  that  galliant  knight  is  old- 
ish, 

Although  Sir  John  as  gray,  gray  air, 
Hage  has  not  made  his  busum  coldish. 
His  Art  still  beats  tewodds  the  Fair ! 

'Twas  two  years  sins,  this  knight  so 
splendid, 

Peraps  fateagued  with  Bath's  rou- 
tines, 

To  Paris  towne  his  phootsteps  bended 
In  sutch  of  gayer  folks  and  scans. 

His  and  was  free,  his  means  was  easy, 
A  nobler,  finer  gent  than  he 

Ne'er  drove  about  the  Shons-Eleesy, 
Or  paced  the  Roo  de  Rivolee. 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICP^MAN  X. 


329 


A  brougham  and  i)air  Sir  John  pro- 
wided, 

In  which  abroad  he  loved  to  ride  ; 
But  ar  !  he  most  of  all  enjyed  it, 
When  some  one  helse  was  sit  tin'  in- 
side ! 

That  "some  one  helse  "  a  lovely  dame 
was, 

Dear  ladies  you  will  heasy  tell  — 
Countess  Grabrowski  her  sweet  name 
was, 

A  noble  title,  ard  to  spell. 

This  faymus  Countess  ad  a  daughter 
Of  lovely  form  and  tender  art  ; 

A  nobleman  in  marridge  sought  her, 
By  name  the  Baron  of  Saint  Bart. 

Their  pashn  touched  the  noble  Sir 
John, 

It  was  so  pewer  and  profound  ; 
Lady  Grabrowski  he  did  urge  on 
With  Hyming's  wreeth  their  loves 
to  crownd. 

0,  come  to  Bath,  to  Lansdowne 

Crescent," 
Says  kind  Sir  John,  "  and  live  with 
me  ; 

The  living  there's  uncommon  pleas- 
ant— 

I'm  sure  you'll  find  the  hair  agree. 

"  0,  come  to  Bath,  my  fair  Grabrowski, 
And  bring  your  charming  girl," 
sezee  ; 

*'The  Barring  here  shall  have  the 
ouse-key, 
Vith  breakfast,  dinner,  lunch,  and 
tea. 

"  And  when  they  Ve  passed  an  appy 
winter. 

Their  opes  and  loves  no  more  we'll 
bar  ; 

The  marridge-vow"  they'll  enter  inter. 
And  I  at  church  will  be  their  Par." 

To  Bath  they  went  to  Lansdowne 
Crescent, 

Where  good  Sir  John  he  did  provide 


No  end  of  teas  and  balls  incessant, 
And  bosses  both  to  drive  and  ride. 

He  was  so  Os])itably  busy. 

When  Miss  was  late,  he'd  make  so 
bold 

Upstairs  to  call  out,  "Missy,  Missy, 
Come   down,   the   coffy's  getting 
cold  !  " 

But  0  !  'tis  sadd  to  think  such  bounties 
Should  meet  with  such  return  as 
this  ; 

0  Barring  of  Saint  Bart,  0  Countess 
Grabrowski,  and  0  cruel  Miss  ! 

He  married  you  at  Bath's  fair  Habby, 
Saint  Bart  he  treated  like  a  son  — 

And  wasn't  it  uncommon  shabby 
To  do  what  you  have  went  and  done  ! 

My  trembling  And  amost  refewses 
To  write  the  charge  which  Sir  John 
swore. 

Of  which  the  Countess  he  ecuses. 
Her  daughter  and  her  son-in-lore. 

My  Mews  quite  blushes  as  she  sings  of 
The  fatle  charge  which  now  I  ({uote  : 
He  says  Miss  took  his  two  best  rings 
off. 

And  pawned  'em  for  a  tenpun  note. 

"  Is  this  the  child  of  honest  parince. 
To   make   away  with  folks'  best 
things  ? 

Is  this,  pray,  like  the  wives  of  Barrins, 
To  go  and  prig  a  gentleman's  rings  ? " 

Thus  thought  Sir  John,  by  anger 

w^'ought  on. 
And  to  rewenge  his  injured  cause. 
He  brought  them  hup  to  ^Ir.  Brough- 

ton, 

Last  Yensday  veek  as  ever  waws. 

If  guiltless,  how  she  have  been  slan- 
dered ! 

If  guilty,  wengeance  will  not  fail  : 
Meanwhile  the  lady  is  remanded 
And  gev three  hundred  pounsin  baO. 


330 


BALLADS. 


JACOB  HOMNIUM'S  HOSS. 

A  NEW  PALLICE  COURT  CHANT. 

One  sees  in  Viteall  Yard, 

Vere  pleacemen  do  resort, 
A  weiierable  hinstitute, 

'Tis  call'd  the  Pallis  Court. 
A  gent  as  got  his  i  on  it, 

I  think  'twill  make  some  sport. 

The  natur  of  this  Court 

My  hindignation  riles  : 
A  few  fat  legal  spiders 

Here  set  &  spin  their  viles  ; 
To  rob  the  town  theyr  privlege  is, 

In  a  hayrea  of  twelve  miles. 

The  Judge  of  this  year  Court 

Is  a  mellitary  beak. 
He  knows  no  more  of  Lor 

Than  praps  he  does  of  Greek, 
And  prowides  hisself  a  deputy 

Because  he  cannot  speak. 

Four  counsel  in  this  Court  — 
Misnamed  of  Justice  —  sits  ; 

These  lawyers  owes  their  places  to 
Their  money,  not  their  wits  ; 

And  there's  six  attornies  under  them. 
As  here  their  living  gits. 

These  lawyers,  six  and  four. 

Was  a  livin  at  their  ease, 
A  sen  din  of  their  writs  abowt, 

And  droring  in  the  fees. 
When  their  erose  a  cirkimstance 

As  is  like  to  make  a  breeze. 

It  now  is  some  monce  since, 
A  gent  both  good  and  trew 

Possest  an  ansum  oss  vith  vich 
He  didn  know  what  to  do  : 

Peraps  he  did  not  like  the  oss, 
Peraps  he  was  a  scru. 

This  gentleman  his  oss 

At  Tattersall's  did  lodge  ; 
There  came  a  wulgar  oss-dealer, 

This  gentleman's  name  did  fodge, 
And  took  the  oss  from  Tattersall's  : 

Wasn  that  a  artful  dodge  ? 


One  day  this  gentleman's  groom 

This  willain  did  spy  out, 
A  mounted  on  this  oss 

A  ridin  him  about  ; 
"  Get  out  of  that  there  oss,  you  rogue," 

Speaks  up  the  groom  so  stout. 

The  thief  was  cruel  whex'd 
To  find  himself  so  pinn'd  ; 

The  oss  began  to  whinny. 

The  honest  groom  he  grinn'd  ; 

And  the  raskle  thief  got  off  the  oss 
And  cut  avay  like  vind. 

And  phansy  with  what  joy 

The  master  did  regard 
His  dearly  bluvd  lost  oss  again 

Trot  in  the  stable  yard  ! 

Who  was  this  master  good 

Of  whomb  I  makes  these  rhymes  ? 
His  name  is  Jacob  Homnium,  Exquire; 

And  if  I'd  committed  crimes, 
Good  Lord  !  I  wouldn't  ave  that  mann 

Attack  me  in  the  Times! 

Now  shortly  after  the  groomb 
His  master's  oss  did  take  up, 

There  came  a  livery-man 
This  gentleman  to  wake  up  ; 

And  he  handed  in  a  little  bill. 
Which  hangered  Mr.  Jacob. 

For  two  pound  seventeen 

This  livery-man  eplied, 
For  the  keep  of  Mr.  Jacob's  oss, 

Which  the  thief  had  took  to  ride. 
"  Do  you  see  any  think  green  in  me  ?  ** 

Mr.  Jacob  Homnium  cried. 

Because  a  raskle  chews 

My  oss  away  to  robb, 
And  goes  tick  at  your  Mews 

For  seven-and-fifty  bobb. 
Shall  /  be  call'd  to  pay  J  —  It  is 

A  iniquitious  Jobb." 

Thus  Mr.  Jacob  cut 

The  conwiisation  short ; 
The  livery-man  went  ome, 

Detummingd  to  ave  sport, 
And   summingsd  Jacob  Homnium, 
P'xcpiire. 

Into  the  Pallis  Court. 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


331 


Pore  Jacob  went  to  Court, 

A  Counsel  for  to  lix, 
And  choose  a  barrister  out  of  the  four, 

An  attorney  of  the  six  : 
And  there  he  sor  these  men  of  Lor, 

And  watch'd  'em  at  their  tricks. 

The  dreadful  day  of  trile 

In  the  Pallis  Court  did  come ; 

The  lawyers  said  their  say, 
The  Judge  look'd  wery  glum. 

And  then  the  British  Jury  cast 
Pore  Jacob  Hom-ni-um. 

0  a  weary  day  was  that 
For  Jacob  to  go  through  ; 

The  debt  was  two  seventeen 

( Which  he  no  mor  owed  than  you). 
And  then  there  was  the  plaintives 
costs, 

Eleven  pound  six  and  two. 

And  then  there  was  his  own, 
Which  the  lawyers  they  did  fix 

At  the  wery  moderit  figgar 
Of  ten  pound  one  and  six. 

Now  Evins  bless  the  Pallis  Court, 
And  all  its  bold  ver- dicks  ! 

1  cannot  settingly  tell 

If  Jacob  swaw  and  cust. 
At  aving  for  to  pay  this  sumb  ; 

But  I  should  think  he  must, 
And  av  drawn  a  cheque  for  £24  4s.  Sd. 

With  most  igstreme  disgust. 

0  Pallis  Court,  you  move 

My  pitty  most  profound. 
A  most  emusing  sport 

You  thought  it,  I'll  be  bound. 
To  saddle  hup  a  three-pound  debt. 

With  two-and-twenty  pound. 

Good  sport  it  is  to  you 

To  grind  the  honest  pore. 
To  pay  their  just  or  unjust  debts 

With  eight  hundred  per  cent,  for 
Lor  ; 

Make  haste  and  get  your  costes  in, 
They  will  not  last  much  mor  ! 

Come  down  from  that  tribewn. 
Thou  shameless  and  Unjust  ; 


Thou  Swindle,  picking  pockets  in 
The  name  of  Truth  august  : 

Come  down,  thou  hoary  Hlasphemy, 
Por  die  thou  ijhalt  and  must. 

And  go  it,  Jacob  Homnium, 

And  ply  your  iron  pen. 
And  rise  up,  Sir  John  Jervis, 

And  shut  me  up  that  den ; 
That  sty  for  fattening  lawyers  in. 

On  the  bones  of  honest  men. 

Pleacemax  X. 


THE  SPECULATORS. 

The  night  was  stormy  and  dark, 
The  town  was  shut  up  in  sleep  :  Only 
those  w^ere  abroad  who  were  out  on 
a  lark,  Or  those  who'd  no  beds  to 
keep. 

I  pass'd  through  the  lonely  street, 
The  wind  did  sing  and  blow  ;  I  could 
hear  the  policeman's  feet  Clapping 
to  and  fro. 

There  stood  a  potato-man  In  the 
midst  of  all  the  wet  ;  He  stood  with 
his  'tato-can  In  the  lonely  Hay- 
market. 

Two  gents  of  dismal  mien,  And 
dank  and  greasy  rags.  Came  out  of  a 
shop  for  gin.  Swaggering  over  the 
flags  : 

Swaggering  over  the  stones.  These 
shabby  bucks  did  walk  ;  And  I  went 
and  followed  those  seedy  ones.  And 
listened  to  their  talk. 

Was  I  sober  or  awake  ?  Could  I 
believe  my  ears  ?  Those  dismal  beg- 
gars spake  Of  nothing  but  railroad 
shares. 

I  wondered  more  and  more  :  Says 
one — "Good  friend  of  mine.  How 
many  shares  ha\'e  you  wrote  for,  In 
the  Diddlesex  Junction  line  ?  " 


332 


BALLADS. 


*'  I  wrote  for  twenty,"  says  Jim, 
**But  they  wouldn't  give  me  one;" 
His  comrade  straight  rebuked  him 
For  the  lolly  he  had  done  : 

"  0  Jim,  you  are  unawares  Of  the 
ways  of  this  bad  town  ;  1  always 
write  for  five  hundred  shares,  And 
then  they  put  me  down." 

"  And  yet  you  got  no  shares,"  Says 
Jim,  "  for  all  your  boast  ;  "  "1  would 
have  wrote,"  says  Jack,  "but  where 
AVas  the  penny  to  pay  the  post  ? " 

I  lost,  for  I  couldn't  pay  That 
first  instalment  up  ;  But  here's  'taters 
smoking  hot  —  I  say.  Let's  stop,  my 
boy,  and  sup." 

And  at  this  simple  feast  The  while 
they  did  regale,  I  drew  each  ragged 
capitalist  Down  on  my  left  thumb- 
nail. 

Their  talk  did  me  perplex.  All 
night  I  tumbled  and  tost.  And 
thought  of  railroad  specs.  And  how 
money  was  won  and  lost. 

**  Bless  railroads  everywhere,"  I 
said,  "and  the  world's  advance  ; 
Bless  every  railroad  share  In  Italy, 
Ireland,  France ;  For  never  a  beg- 
gar need  now  despair.  And  every 
rogue  has  a  chance." 


A  WOEFUL  NEW  BALLAD 

OF  THE  PROTESTANT  CONSPIRACY  TO 
TAKE  THE  POPE's  LIFE. 

(BY  A  GENTLEMAN  W^HO  HAS  BEEN  ON 
THE  SPOT. ) 

Come  all  ye  Christian  people,  unto  my 

tale  give  ear, 
*Tis  about   a   y)ase   consperracy,  as 

quickly  shall  appear  ; 
'Twill  make  your  hair  to  Ijristle  up, 

and  your  eyes  to  stall  and  glow, 
When  of  this  dread  consperracy  you 

lionest  folks  shall  know. 


The  news  of  this  consperracy  and  vil- 

lianous  attempt, 
I  read  it  in  a  newspaper,  from  Italy  it 

was  sent  : 
It  was  sent  from  lovely  Italy,  where 

the  olives  they  do  grow, 
And  our  holy  father  lives,  yes,  yes, 

while  his  name  it  is  No  no. 

And  'tis  there  our  English  noblemen 

goes  that  is  Puseyites  no  longei-, 
Because  they  finds  the  ancient  laith 

both  better  is  and  stronger, 
And  'tis  there  I  knelt  beside  my  lord 

when  he  kiss'd  the  Pope  his  toe, 
And  hung  his  neck  with  chains  at  St. 

Peter's  Vinculo. 

And  'tis  there  the  splendid  churches 
is,  and  the  fountains  playing 
grand. 

And  the  palace  of  Prince  Torlonia, 
likewise  the  Vatican  ; 

And  there's  the  stairs  where  the  bag- 
pipe-men and  the  pifiararys 
blow. 

And  it's  there  I  drove  my  lady  and 
lord  in  the  Park  of  Pincio. 

And  'tis  there  our  splendid  churches 
is  in  all  their  pride  and  glory. 

Saint  Peter's  famous  Basilisk  and  Saint 
Maiy's  Maggiory  ; 

And  them  benighted  Prodestants,  on 
Sunday  they  must  go 

Outside  the  town  to  the  preaching- 
shop  by  the  gate  of  Popolo. 

Now  in  this  town  of  famous  Room,  as 

I  d essay  you  have  heard. 
There  is  scarcely  any  gentleman  as 

hasn't  got  a  beard. 
And  ever  since  the  world  began  it  was 

ordained  so. 
That  there  should  always  barbers  be 

wheresumever  beards  do  grow. 

And  as  it  always  has  been  so  since  the 

world  it  did  begin. 
The  Pope,  our  Holy  Potentate,  has  a 

beard  upon  his  chin  ; 
And  every  morning  regular  when  cocks 

begin  to  crow. 
There  comes  a  certing  party  to  wait 

on  Pope  Pio. 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


333 


There  comes  a  certiiig  gintleinen  with 

razier,  soap,  and  lather, 
A  shaving  most  i'es})ectt'ully  the  Pope, 

our  Holy  Father. 
And  now  the  dread  consperracy  I'll 

quickly  to  you  show. 
Which  them  sanguinary  Prodestants 

did  form  against  Nono. 

Them  sanguinary  Prodestants,  which 

I  abore  and  hate. 
Assembled  in  the  preaching-shop  by 

the  Flaminian  gate  ; 
And  they  took  counsel  with  their  selves 

to  deal  a  deadly  blow 
Against  our  gentle  Father,  the  Holy 

Pope  Pio. 

Exhibiting  a  wickedness  which  I  never 

heerd  or  read  of  ; 
What  do  you  think  them  Prodestants 

wished  ?  to  cut  the  good  Pope's 

head  off ! 

And  to  the  kind  Pope's  Air-dresser  the 
Prodestant  Clark  did  go, 

And  proposed  him  to  decapitate  the 
innocent  Pio. 

"What  hever  can  be  easier,"  said  this 

Clerk  —  this  Man  of  Sin, 
**  When  you  are  called  to  hoperate  on 

His  Holiness's  chin. 
Than  just  to  give  the  razier  a  little 

slip  — just  so  ?  — 
And  there's  an  end,  dear  barber,  of 

innocent  Pio  !  " 

The  wicked  conversation  it  chanced 

was  overerd 
By  an  Italian  lady  ;  she  heard  it  every 

word  : 

Which  by  birth  she  was  a  Marchioness, 
in  service  forced  to  go 

With  the  parson  of  the  preaching-shop 
at  the  gate  of  Popolo. 

When  the  lady  heard  the  news,  as  duty 

did  obleege. 
As  fast  as  her  legs  could  carry  her  she 

ran  to  the  Poleege. 
**0  Polegia,"  says  she  (for  they  pro- 

nounts  it  so), 
"They're  going  for  to  massyker  our 

Holy  Pope  Pio. 


"  The  ebomminable  Englishmen,  the 

Parsing  and  his  Clark, 
His  Holiness's  Air-dresser  devised  it 

in  the  dark  ! 
And  I  would  recommend  you  in  prison 

for  to  throw 
These  villians  would  esassinate  the 

Holy  Pope  Pio  ? 

"  And  for  saving  of  His  Holiness  and 

his  trebble  crownd 
I  humbly  hope  your  Worships  will  give 

me  a  few  pound  ; 
Because  I  was  a  Marchioness  many 

years  ago. 
Before  I  came  to  service  at  the  gate  of 

Popolo." 

That  sackreligious  Air-dresser,  the  Par- 
son and  his  man 

Wouldn't,  though  ask'd  continyally, 
own  their  wicked  plan  — 

And  so  the  kind  Authoraties  let  those 
villians  go 

That  was  plotting  of  the  murder  of  the 
good  Pio  Nono. 

Now  isn't  this  safishnt  proof,  ye  gen- 
tlemen at  home, 

How  wicked  is  them  Prodestants,  and 
how  good  our  Pope  at  Rome  ? 

So  let  us  drink  confusion  to  Lord 
John  and  Lord  Minto, 

And  a  health  unto  His  Eminence,  and 
good  Pio  Nono. 


THE  LAMENTABLE  BALLAD  OF 
THE  FOUNDLING  OF  SHORE- 
DITCH. 

Come  all  ye  Christian  people,  and  lis- 
ten to  my  tail, 

It  is  all  about  a  doctor  was  travelling 
by  the  rail. 

By  the  Heastern  Counties'  Railway 
(vich  the  shares  I  don't  desire), 

From  Ixworth  town  in  Suffolk,  vich 
his  name  did  not  transpire. 


334 


BALLADS. 


A  travelling  from  Bury  tins  Doctor 

was  employed 
"With  a  gentleman,  a  friend  of  his,  vich 

his  name  was  Captain  Loyd, 
And  on  reaching  Marks  Tey  Station, 

that  is  next  beyond  Colchest- 
er, a  lady  entered  into  them  most  ele- 
gantly dressed. 

She  entered  into  the  Carriage  all  with 
a  tottering  step, 

And  a  pooty  little  Bayby  upon  her 
bussum  slep  ; 

The  gentlemen  received  her  with  kind- 
ness and  siwillaty, 

Pitying  this  lady  for  her  illness  and 
debillaty. 

She  had  a  fust-class  ticket,  this  lovely 
lady  said. 

Because  it  was  so  lonesome  she  took  a 

secknd  instead. 
Better  to  travel  by  secknd  class,  than 

sit  alone  in  the  fust, 
And  the  pooty  little  Baby  upon  her 

breast  she  nust. 

A  seein  of  her  cryin,  andshiverin  and 
pail. 

To  her  spoke  this  surging,  the  Ero  of 
my  tail  ; 

Saysee  you  look  unwell,  Ma'am,  I'll 

elp  you  if  1  can. 
And  you  may  tell  your  case  to  me,  for 

I'm  a  meddicle  man. 

"  Thank  you,  Sir,"  the  lady  said,  "  I 
only  look  so  pale, 

Because  I  ain't  accustom'd  to  travel- 
ling on  the  Rale  ; 

I  shall  be  better  presnly,  when  I 've 
ad  some  rest  : " 

And  that  pooty  little  Baby  she 
S(|ueeged  it  to  her  breast. 

So  in  the  conwersation  the  journey 

they  beguiled, 
Capting  Loyd  and  the  meddicle  man, 

and  the  lady  and  tlie  child. 
Till  the  warious  stations  along  the  line 

was  passed. 
For  even  the  Heastern  Counties'  trains 

must  come  in  at  last. 


When  at  Shoreditch  tumminus  at 
lenth  stopped  the  train, 

This  kind  meddicle  gentleman  pro- 
posed his  aid  again. 

"  Thank  you,  Sir,"  the  lady  said,  **  for 
your  kyindness  dear  ; 

My  carridge  and  my  osses  is  probibbly 
come  here. 

* '  Will  you  old  this  baby,  please,  vilst 
I  step  and  see  ? " 

The  Doctor  was  a  famly  man  :  *'  That 
I  will,"  says  he. 

Then  the  little  child  she  kist,  kist  it 
very  gently, 

Vich  was  sucking  his  little  fist,  sleep- 
ing innocently. 

With  a  sigh  from  her  art,  as  though 

she  would  have  bust  it. 
Then  she  gave  the  Doctor  the  child  — 

wery  kind  he  nust  it  : 
Hup  then  the  lady  jumped  hoff  the 

bench  she  sat  from. 
Tumbled  down  the  carriclge  steps  and 

ran  along  the  platform. 

Vile  hall  the  other  passengers  vent 

upon  their  vays, 
The  Capting  and  the  Doctor  sat  there 

in  a  maze  ; 
Some  vent  in  a  Homminibus,  some 

vent  in  a  Cabby, 
The  Capting  and  the  Doctor  vaited 

vith  the  babby. 

There  they  sat  looking  queer,  for  an 

hour  or  more. 
But  their  feller  passinger  neather  on 

'em  sore  : 

Never,  never  back  again  did  that  lady 
come 

To  that  pooty  sleeping  Hinfnt  a  suckin 
of  his  Thum  ! 

What  could  this  pore  Doctor  do,  bein 
treated  thus. 

When  the  darling  Baby  woke,  cryin 
for  its  nuss  ? 

Off  he  drove  to  a  female  friend,  vich 
she  was  both  kind  and  mild, 

And  igsplained  to  her  the  circum- 
stance of  this  year  little  child. 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X.  335 


That  kind  lady  took  the  child  in- 
stantly in  her  lap, 

And  made  it  very  comfortable  by  giv- 
ing it  some  pap  ; 

And  when  she  took  its  close  off,  what 
d'you  think  she  found  ? 

A  couple  of  ten  pun  notes  sewn  up, 
in  its  little  gownd  ! 

Also  in  its  little  close,  was  a  note   ^  ' 

which  did  conwey 
That  this  little  baby's  parents  lived 

in  a  handsome  way 
And  for  his  Headucatiori  they  reg- 

larly  would  pay, 
And  sirtingly  like  gentlefolks  would 

claim  the  child  one  day, 
If  the  Christian  people  who'd  charge 

of  it  would  say. 
Per  advvertisement  in  The  Times 

where  the  baby  lay.  j 

Pity  of  this  bayby  many  people  took, 
It  had  such  pooty  ways  and  such  a 

pooty  look  ; 
And  there  came  a  lady  forrard  (I  wish 

that  I  could  see 
Any  kind  lady  as  would  do  as  much 

for  me  ; 

And  I  wish  with  all  my  art,  some 

night  in  my  night  gownd, 
I  could  find  a  note  stitched  for  ten  or 

twenty  pound)  — 
There  came  a  lady  forrard,  that  most 

honorable  did  say. 
She'd  adopt  this  little  baby,  which 

her  parents  cast  away. 

While  the  Doctor  pondered  on  this 
h offer  fair. 

Comes  a  letter  from  Devonshire,  from 
a  party  there, 

Bordering  the  Doctor,  at  its  Mar's  de- 
sire. 

To  send  the  little  Infant  back  to  Dev- 
onshire. 

Lost  in  apoplexity,  this  pore  meddicle 
man, 

Like  a  sensable  gentleman,  to  the 
Justice  ran  ; 


Which  his  name  was  Mr.  Hammill,  a 

honorable  beak, 
That  takes  his  seat  in  Worship  Street, 

four  times  a  week. 

"  0  Justice  !  "  says  the  Doctor,  in- 

strugt  me  what  to  do. 
I've  come  up  from  the  country,  to 

throw  myself  on  you  ; 
My  patients  have  no  doctor  to  tend 

them  in  their  ills, 
(There  they  are  in  Sufiblk  without 

their  draffts  and  pills  ! ) 

•  « 

''I've  come  up  from  the  country,  to 

know  how  I'll  dispose 
Of  this  pore  little   baby,  and  the 

twenty  pun  note,  and  the  close. 
And  I  want  to  go  back  to  Suffolk, 

dear  Justice,  if  you  [)lease. 
And  my  patients  wants  their  Doctor, 

and   their   Doctor  wants  his 

feez." 

Up  spoke  Mr.  Hammill,  sittin  at  his 
desk, 

'*This  year  application  does  me  much 

perplesk  ; 
What  1  do  adwise  you,  is  to  leave  this 

babby 

In  the  Parish  where  it  was  left,  by  its 
mother  shabby." 

The  Doctor  from  his  worship  sadly  did 
depart  — 

He  might  have  left  the  baby,  but  he 

hadn't  got  the  heart 
To  go  for  to  leave  that  Hinnocent, 

has  the  law  allows, 
To  the  tender  mussies  of  the  Union 

House. 

Mother,  who  left  this  little  one  on  a 
stranger's  knee, 

Think  how  cruel  you  have  been,  and 
how  good  was  he  ! 

Think,  if  you've  been  guilty,  inno- 
cent was  she  ; 

And  do  not  take  unkindly  this  little 
word  of  me  : 

Heaven  be  merciful  to  us  all,  sinners 
as  we  be  ! 


336 


BALLADS. 


THE  ORGAN-BOY'S  APPEAL. 

"  Westminster  Police  Court.  —  Policeman 
X  brought  a  paper  of  doggerel  verses  to  the 
Magistrate,  which  had  been  thrust  into  his 
hands,  X  said,  by  an  Italian  boy,  who  ran 
away  immediately  afterwards. 

"  The  Magistrate,  after  perusing  the  lines, 
looked  hard  at  X,  and  said  he  did  not  think 
they  were  written  by  an  Italian. 

"  X,  blushing,  said  he  thought  the  paper 
read  in  Court  last  week,  and  which  frightened 
so  the  old  gentleman  to  whom  it  was  ad- 
dressed, was  also  not  of  Italian  origin." 

0  SiGNOR  Broderip,  you  *  €re  a 
wickid  ole  man, 

You  wexis  us  little  horgin-boys  when- 
ever you  can  : 

How  dare  you  talk  of  Justice,  and  go 
for  to  seek 

To  pussicute  us  horgin-boys,  you  sen- 
guinary  Beek  ? 

Though  you  set  in  Vestminster  sur- 
rounded by  your  crushers, 

Harrogint  and  habsolute  like  the  Hor- 
tocrat  of  hall  the  Rushers, 

Yet  there  is  a  better  vurld  I'd  have 
you  for  to  know. 

Likewise  a  place  vere  the  henimies  of 
horgin-boys  will  go. 

0  you  vickid  Herod  without  any 
pity  ! 

London  vithout  horgin-boys  vood  be 

a  dismal  city. 
Sweet  Saint  Oicily  who  first  taught 

horgin-pipes  to  blow, 
Soften  the  heart  of  this  Magistrit  that 

haggerywates  us  so  ! 

Good  Italian  gentlemen,  fatherly  and 
kind, 

Brings  us  over  to  London  here  our 

horgins  for  to  grind  ; 
Sends  us  out  vith  little  vite  mice  and 

guinea-pigs  also 
A  popping  of  the  Veasel  and  a  Jumpin 

of  Jim  Crow. 

And  as  us  young  horgin-boys  is  grate- 
ful in  our  turn 

We  gives  to  thcise  kind  gentlemen  hall 
the  money  we  earn, 


Because  that  they  vood  vop  up  as  wery 

wel  we  know 
Unless  we  brought  our  burnings  back 

to  them  as  loves  us  so. 

0  Mr.  Broderip  !  wery  much  I'm 
surprise. 

Yen  you  take  your  valks  abroad  where 

can  be  your  eyes  ? 
If  a  Beak  had  a  heart  then  you'd  com- 

pryeud 

Us  pore  little  horgin-boys  was  the  poor 
man's  friend. 

Don't  you  see  the  shildren  in  the  dror- 

ing-rooms 
Clapping  of  their  little  ands  when  they 

year  our  toons? 
On  their  mothers'  bussums  don't  you 

see  the  babbies  crow 
And  down  to  us  dear  horgin-boys  lots 

of  apence  throw  ? 

Don't  you  see  the  ousemaids  (pooty 

Follies  and  Maries), 
Yen  ve  bring  our  urdigurdis,  smiling 

from  the  hairies  ? 
Then  they  come  out  vith  a  slice  o'  cole 

puddn  or  a  bit  o'  bacon  or  so 
And  give  it  us  young  horgin-boys  for 

lunch  afore  we  go. 

Have  you  ever  seen  the  Hirish  children 
sport 

When  our  velcome  music-box  brings 

sunshine  in  the  Court  ? 
To  these  little  paupers  who  can  never 

pay 

Surely  all  good  horgin-boys,  for  God's 
love,  will  play. 

Has  for  those  proud  gentlemen,  like  a 
serting  B — k 

(Yich  I  von't  be  pussonal  and  there- 
fore vil  not  speak). 

That  flings  their  parler-vinders  hup 
ven  ve  begin  to  play 

And  cusses  us  and  swears  at  us  in  such 
a  wiolent  way, 

Instedd  of  their  abewsing  and  calling 
hout  Poleece 

Let  cm  send  out  John  to  us  vith  six- 
pence or  a  shillin  apiece. 


LITTLE 

Then  like  good  young  horgin-boys 
avay  from  there  we'll  go, 

Blessing  sweet  Saint  Cicily  that 
taught  our  pipes  to  blow. 


LITTLE  BILLEE* 
Air —  "    y  avait  un  petit  navire.'*'* 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol 
city 

Who  took  a  boat  and  went  to  sea. 
But  first  with  beef  and  captain's  bis- 
cuits 

And  pickled  pork  they  loaded  she. 

There  was  gorging  Jack  and  guzzling 
Jimmy, 

And  the  youngest  he  was  little  Billee. 
Now  when  they  got  as  far  as  the 
Equator 

They'd  nothing  left  but  one  split  pea. 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
**I  am  extremely  hungaree." 
To  gorging  Jack  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"  We've  nothing  left,  us  must  eat  we." 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
*'  With   one   another   we  shouldn't 
agree  ! 

*  Ab  different  versions  of  this  popular  song 
have  been  set  to  music  and  sung,  no  apology 
is  needed  for  the  insertion  in  these  pages  of 
what  is  considered  to  be  the  correct  version. 


BILLEE.  337 

There's  little  Bill,  he's  young  and 
tender, 

We're  old  and  tough,  so  let's  eat  he. 

**0h  !  Billy,  we're  going  to  kill  and 
eat  you, 

So  undo  the  button  of  your  chemic." 
When  Bill  received  this  information 
He  used  bis  pocket  handkerchie. 

"  First  let  me  say  my  catechism, 
Which  my   poor  niamy   taught  to 
me." 

"  Make  haste,  make  haste,"  says  guz- 
zling Jimmy, 

While  Jack  pulled  out  his  snicker- 
snee. 

So  Billy  went  up  to  the  main-top 

gallant  mast. 
And  down   he  fell  on  his  bended 

knee. 

He  scarce  had  come  to  the  twelfth 

commandment 
When  up  he  jumps.    "There's  land 

I  see  : 

Jerusalem  and  Madagascar, 
And  North  and  South  Amerikee  : 
There's  the  British  flag  a  riding  at 
anchor. 

With  Admiral  Napier,  K.C.B." 

So  when  they  got  aboard  of  the  Ad- 
miral's 

He   hanged   fat   Jack    and  flogged 

Jimmee  ; 
But  as  for  little  Bill  he  made  him 
The  Captain  of  a  Seventy-three. 


22 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY. 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY. 

The  play  is  done  ;  the  curtain  drops, 
Slow  falling  to  the  prompter's  bell  : 

A  moment  yet  the  actor  stops, 

And  looks  around,  to  say  farewell. 

It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task  ; 
And,  when  he's  laughed  and  said 
his  say, 

He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 
A  face  that's  anything  but  gay. 

One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends. 

Let's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme, 
And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young 
friends. 

As  fits' the  merry  Christmas  time.* 
On  life's  wide  scene  you,  too,  have 
parts. 

That  Fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you 
play  ; 

Good  night  !  with  honest  gentle  hearts 
A  kindly  greeting  go  alway  ! 

Good  night  !  —  I'd  say,  the  griefs,  the 
joys, 

Just  hinted  in  this  mimic  page, 
The  triumphs  and  defeats  of  boys. 

Are  but  repeated  in  our  age. 
I'd  say,  your  woes  were  not  less  keen, 

Your  hopes  more  vain  than  those  of 
men  ; 

Your  pangs  or  pleasures  of  fifteen 
At  forty-five  played  o'er  again. 

*  Thfise  vorsop  wore  printed  at  tho  end  of  a 
ChriHtmas  Book  (1848-9),  "  Dr.  Bircli  ana  his 
Young  FricndH." 


I'd  say,  we  suffer  and  we  strive, 
Not  less  nor  more  as  men  than  boys; 

With  grizzled  beards  at  forty-five, 
As  erst  at  twelve  in  corduroys. 

And  if,  in  time  of  sacred  j^outh, 
We  learned  at  home  to  love  and 
pi'ay, 

Pray  Heaven   that  early  Love  and 
Truth 

May  never  wholly  pass  away. 

And  in  the  world,  as  in  the  school, 
rd  say,  how  fate  may  change  and 
shift  ; 

The  prize  be  sometimes  with  the  fool. 

The  race  not  always  to  the  swift. 
The  strong  may  yield,  the  good  may 
fall. 

The  gieat  man  be  a  vulgar  clown. 
The  knave  be  lifted  over  all, 
The  kind  cast  pitilessly  down. 

Who  knows  the  inscrutable  design  ? 

Blessed  be  He  who  took  and  gave  ! 
Why  should  your  mother,  Charles,  not 
mine. 

Be  weeping  at  her  darling's  grave  ?  * 
We  bow  to  Heaven  that  will'd  it  so, 

That  daikly  rules  the  fate  of  all. 
That  sends  the  respite  or  the  blow, 

That's  free  to  give,  or  to  recall. 

This  crowns  his  feast  with  wine  and 
wit  : 

'  Who  brought  him  to  that  mirth  and 
\  state  ? 

His  betters,  see,  below  him  sit. 
Or  hunger  hopeless  at  the  gate. 

*  CB.  ob.  2f)th  November,  1848,  eet.  42. 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY. 


339 


Who  bade  the  mud  from  Dives'  wheel 

To  spurn  the  rags  of  Lazarus  ? 
Come,  brother,  in   that  dust  we'll 
kneel. 

Confessing  Heaven  that  ruled  it  thus. 

So  each  shall  mourn,  in  life's  advance, 
Dear  hopes,  dear  friends,  untimely 
killed  ; 

Shall  grieve  for  many  a  forfeit  chance. 
And  longing  passion  unfulfilled. 

Amen  !  whatever  fate  be  sent. 

Pray  God  the  heart  may  kindly 
glow, 

Although  the  head  with  cares  be  bent. 
And  whitened  with  the  winter  snow. 

Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 

Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart, 
Who  misses  or  who  wins  the  prize. 

Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can  ; 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise. 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 

A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young  ! 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays) ; 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 

Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days  : 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead  — 

The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then  : 
Glory  to  Heaven  on  high,  it  said, 

And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men. 

My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth  ; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 
And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and 
mirth. 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide. 
As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth. 
Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol 
still  — 

Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth. 
To  men  of  gentle  will. 


VANITAS  VANITATUM. 

How  spake  of  old  the  Royal  Seer  ? 

(His  text  is  one  1  love  to  treat  on. ) 
This  life  of  ours  he  said  is  sheer 

Mataiotes  Mataioteton. 


0  Student  of  this  gilded  Book, 

Declare,  while  musing  on  its  pages, 

If  truer  words  were  ever  spoke 
By  ancient,  or  by  modern  sages  ? 

The  various  authors'  names  but  note,* 
French,  Spanish,  English,  Russians, 
Germans  : 
And  in  the  volume  polyglot. 

Sure  you  may  read  a  hundred  ser- 
mons !  , 

What  histories  of  life  are  here. 

More   wild   than   all  romancers' 
stories  ; 

What  wondrous  transformations  queer, 
What  homilies  on  human  glories  ! 

What  theme  for  sorrow  or  for  scorn  ! 

What  chronicle  of  Fate's  surprises  — 
Of  adverse  fortune  nobly  borne, 

Of  chances,  changes,  ruins,  rises  ! 

Of  thrones  upset,  and  sceptres  broke. 
How  strange  a  record  here  is  written! 

Of  honors,  dealt  as  if  in  joke  ; 
Of  brave  desert  unkindly  smitten. 

How  low  men  were,  and  how  they  rise  ! 
How  high  they  were,  and  how  they 
tumble  ! 

0  vanity  of  vanities  ! 

0  laughable,  pathetic  jumble  ! 

Here  between  honest  Janin's  joke 
And  his  Turk  Excellency's  firman, 

1  write  my  name  upon  the  book  : 

T.  write  my  name  —  and  end  my 
sermon. 


0  Vanity  of  vanities  ! 

How  wayward  the  decrees  of  Fate 
are  ; 

How  very  weak  the  very  wise. 

How  very  small  the  very  great  are  ! 

*  Between  a  page  by  Jules  Janin,  and  a 
poem  by  the  Turkish  Ambassador,  in  Madame 

de  R  's  album,  containing  the  autographs 

of  kings,  princes,  poets,  marshals,  musicians, 
diplomatists,  statesmen,  artists,  and  men  of 
letters  of  all  nations. 


340 


BALLADS. 


"What  mean  these  stale  moralities, 
Sir  Preacher,  from  your  desk  you 
mumble  ? 
Why  rail  against  the  great  and  wise, 
And  tire  us  with  your  ceaseless 
grumble  ? 


Pray  choose  us  out  another  text, 

0  man  morose  and  narrow-minded  ! 
Come   turn   the   page  —  I  read  the 
next, 

And  then  the  next,  and  still  I  find 
it. 


Read  here  how  "Wealth  aside  was 
thrust. 

And  Folly  set  in  place  exalted  ; 
How  Princes  footed  in  the  dust, 
"While  lackeys  in  the  saddle  vaulted. 


Though  thrice  athousand  years  are  past, 
Since  David's  son,  the   sad  and 
splendid. 

The  weary  King  Ecclesiast, 

Upon  his  awful  tablets  penned  it,  — 

Methinks  the  text  is  never  stale. 
And  life  is  every  day  renewing 

Fresh  comments  on  the  old  old  tale 
Of  Folly,  Fortune,  Glory,  Ruin. 

Hark  to  the  Preacher,  preaching  still 
He  lifts  his  voice  and  cries  his 
sermon, 

Here  at  St.  Peter's  of  Cornhill, 

As  yonder  on  the  Mount  of  Hermon  : 

For  j^ou  and  me  to  heart  to  take 
(0  dear  beloved  brother  readers) 

To-day  as  when  the  good  King  spake 
Beneath  the  solemn  Syrian  cedars. 


THE 

HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 

AND  THE  GEEAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 


THE   HISTORY  OF 

SAMUEL  TITMARSH 

AND 

THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GIVES  AN    ACCOUNT  OF    OUR  VILLAGE  AND    THE    FIRST  GLIMPSE 
OF  THE  DIAMOND. 

When  I  came  up  to  town  for  my  second  year,  my  aunt 
Hoggarty  made  me  a  present  of  a  diamond- pin  ;  that  is  to  say, 
it  was  not  a  diamond-pin  then,  but  a  large  old-fashioned  locket, 
of  Dublin  manufacture  in  the  year  1795,  which  the  late  Mr. 
Hoggarty  used  to  sport  at  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  balls  and  else- 
where. He  wore  it,  he  said,  at  the  battle  of  Vinegar  Hill, 
when  his  club  pigtail  saved  his  head  from  being  taken  off,  — 
but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

In  the  middle  of  the  brooch  was  Hoggarty  in  the  scarlet 
uniform  of  the  corps  of  Fencibles  to  which  he  belonged  ;  around 
it  were  thirteen  locks  of  hair,  belonging  to  a  baker's  dozen  of 
sisters  that  the  old  gentleman  had  ;  and,  as  all  these  little 
ringlets  partook  of  the  family  hue  of  briUiant  auburn,  Hog- 
garty's  portrait  seemed  to  the  fanciful  view  like  a  great  fat  red 
round  of  beef  surrounded  by  thirteen  carrots.  These  were 
dished  up  on  a  plate  of  blue  enamel,  and  it  was  from  the  great 
HOGGARTY  DIAMOND  (as  wc  Called  it  in  the  family),  that  the 
collection  of  hairs  in  question  seemed  as  it  were  to  spring. 

My  aunt,  I  need  not  say,  is  rich ;  and  I  thought  I  might  be 
her  heir  as  well  as  another.  During  my  month's  holiday,  she 
was  particularly  pleased  with  me  ;  made  me  drink  tea  with  her 
often  (though  there  was  a  certain  person  in  the  village  with 
whom  on  those  golden  summer  evenings  I  should  have  liked  to 
have  taken  a  stroll  in  the  hay-fields)  ;  promised  every  time  I 
drank  her  bohea  to  do  something  handsome  for  me  when  I  went 
back  to  town,  —  nay,  three  or  four  times  had  me  to  dinner  at 


4  THE  HISTOKY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


three,  and  to  whist  or  cribbage  afterwards.  I  did  not  care  for 
the  cards  ;  for  though  w^e  always  played  seven  hours  on  a 
stretch,  and  I  always  lost,  my  losings  were  never  more  than 
nineteenpence  a  night :  but  there  was  some  infernal  sour  black- 
currant wine,  that  the  old  lady  alwa3^s  produced  at  dinner,  and 
with  the  tray  at  ten  o'clock,  and  which  I  dared  not  refuse ; 
though  upon  my  word  and  honor  it  made  me  verj^  unwell. 

Well,  I  thought  after  all  this  obsequiousness  on  my  part, 
and  my  aunt's  repeated  promises,  that  the  old  lady  would  at 
least  make  me  a  present  of  a  score  of  guineas  (of  which  she 
had  a  power  in  the  drawer)  ;  and  so  convinced  was  I  that  some 
such  present  was  intended  for  me,  that  a  young  lad}^  by  the 
name  of  Miss  Mary  Smith,  with  whom  I  had  conversed  on  the 
subject,  actually  netted  me  a  little  green  silk  purse,  which  she 
gave  me  (behind  Hicks's  hayrick,  as  3^ou  turn  to  the  right  up 
Churchyard  Lane)  — which  she  gave  me,  I  say,  wrapped  up  in 
^  bit  of  silver-paper.  There  was  something  in  the  purse,  too, 
if  the  truth  must  be  known.  First  there  was  a  thick  curl  of 
the  glossiest,  blackest  hair  you  ever  saw  in  3'our  life,  and  next 
there  was  threepence ;  that  is  to  say,  the  half  of  a  silver  six- 
pence hanging  by  a  little  necklace  of  blue  ribbon.  Ah,  but  I 
knew  where  the  other  half  of  the  sixpence  was,  and  envied  that 
happy  bit  of  silver  ! 

The  last  day  of  my  holiday  I  was  obhged,  of  course,  to 
devote  to  Mrs.  Hoggart}' .  My  aunt  was  excessively  gracious  ; 
and  by  way  of  a  treat  brought  out  a  couple  of  bottles  of  the 
black  currant,  of  which  she  made  me  drink  the  greater  part. 
At  night,  when  all  the  ladies  assembled  at  her  party  had  gone 
off  with  their  pattens  and  their  maids,  Mrs.  Floggarty,  who 
had  made  a  signal  to  me  to  stay,  first  blew  out  three  of  the 
wax-candles  in  the  drawing-room,  and  taking  the  fourth  in  her 
hand,  went  and  unlocked  her  escritoire. 

I  can  tell  you  my  heart  beat,  though  I  pretended  to  look 
quite  unconcerned. 

''Sam  my  dear,"  said  she,  as  she  was  fumbling  with  her 
keys,  take  another  glass  of  llosolio  "  (that  was  the  name  by 
which  she  baptized  the  cursed  beverage):  ''it  will  do  you 
good."  I  took  it,  and  you  might  have  seen  my  hand  tremble 
as  the  bottle  went  click  —  click  against  the  glass.  By  the 
time  I  had  swallowed  it,  the  old  lady  had  finished  her  opera- 
tions at  the  bureau,  and  was  coming  towards  me,  the  wax- 
candle  bobbing  in  one  hand  and  a  large  parcel  in  the  other. 

"  Now's  the  time,"  thought  I. 
Samuel,  my  dear  nephew,"  said  she,  ''your  first  name  you 


The  Rosolio. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  tLUNOlS 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 


5 


received  from  your  sainted  uncle,  my  blessed  husband  ;  and  of 
all  my  nephews  and  nieces,  you  are  the  one  whose  conduct  in 
life  has  most  pleased  me/' 

When  you  consider  that  my  aunt  herself  was  one  of  seven 
married  sisters,  that  all  the  Hoggarties  were  married  in  Ireland 
and  mothers  of  numerous  children,  I  must  say  that  the  compli- 
ment my  aunt  paid  me  was  a  ver^'  handsome  one. 

''Dear  aunt,"  says  I,  in  a  slow  agitated  voice,  "I  have 
often  heard  you  say  there  were  seventy-three  of  us  in  all,  and 
believe  me  I  do  think  your  high  opinion  of  me  very  compli- 
mentary indeed  :  I'm  unworthy  of  it  —  indeed  I  am." 

''As  for  those  odious  Irish  people,"  says  my  aunt,  rather 
sharply,  "don't  speak  of  them,  I  hate  them,  and  everyone  of 
their  mothers"  (the  fact  is,  there  had  been  a  lawsuit  about 
Hoggarty's  property);  "but  of  all  my  other  kindred,  you, 
Samuel,  have  been  the  most  dutiful  and  affectionate  to  me. 
Your  employers  in  London  give  the  best  accounts  of  your 
regularity  and  good  conduct.  Though  you  have  had  eighty 
pounds  a  year  (a  liberal  salary),  3^ou  have  not  spent  a  shilling 
more  than  your  income,  as  other  young  men  would ;  and  you 
have  devoted  your  month's  holidays  to  your  old  aunt,  who,  I 
assure  you,  is  grateful." 

"  Oh,  ma'am  !  "  said  I.    It  was  all  that  I  could  utter. 

"  Samuel,"  continued  she,  "  I  promised  you  a  present,  and 
here  it  is.  I  first  thought  of  giving  3^ou  money  ;  but  3^ou  are  a 
regular  lad,  and  don't  want  it.  You  are  above  money,  dear 
Samuel.  I  give  you  what  I  value  most  in  Ufe  —  the  p, — the 
po,  the  po-ortrait  of  my  sainted  Hoggarty  "  (tears)  ^  "set  in 
the  locket  which  contains  the  valuable  diamond  that  you  have 
often  heard  me  speak  of.  Wear  it,  dear  Sam,  for  my  sake  ; 
and  think  of  that  angel  in  heaven,  and  of  your  dear  aunt  Sus^^" 

She  put  the  machine  into  my  hands  :  it  was  about  the  size 
of  the  lid  of  a  shaving-box  ;  and  I  should  as  soon  have  thought 
of  wearing  it  as  of  wearing  a  cocked  hat  and  pigtail.  I  was  so 
disgusted  and  disappointed  that  I  really  could  not  get  out  a 
single  word. 

When  I  recovered  my  presence  of  mind  a  little,  I  took  the 
locket  out  of  the  bit  of  paper  (the  locket  indeed  !  it  w^as  as 
big  as  a  barn-door  padlock),  and  slowly  put  it  into  m}^  shirt. 
"Thank  you,  aunt,"  said  I,  with  admirable  raillery.  "I 
shall  always  value  this  present  for  the  sake  of  you,  who  gave 
it  me  ;  and  it  will  recall  to  me  my  uncle,  and  my  thirteen 
aunts  in  Ireland." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  wear  it  in  that  way  !  "  shrieked  Mrs. 


6  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


Hoggart}',  "  with  the  hair  of  those  odious  carroty  women. 
You  must  have  their  hair  removed." 

Then  the  locket  will  be  spoiled,  aunt.'' 

"  Well,  sir,  never  mind  the  locket ;  have  it  set  afresh." 

"  Or  suppose,"  said  I,  I  put  aside  the  setting  altogether: 
it  is  a  little  too  large  for  the  present  fashion ;  and  have  the 
portrait  of  my  uncle  framed  and  placed  over  my  chimney-piece, 
next  to  yours.    It's  a  sweet  miniature." 

''That  miniature,"  said  Mrs.  Hoggarty,  solemnly,  "was 
the  great  Mulcahy's  chef-d'cBuvre'"  (pronounced  shy  dewver^  a 
favorite  word  of  my  aunt's  ;  being,  with  the  words  bongtong 
and  ally  mode  de  Parry ^  the  extent  of  her  French  vocabulary). 
''  You  know  the  dreadful  story  of  that  poor,  poor  artist.  When 
he  had  finished  that  wonderful  likeness  for  the  late  Mrs.  Hog- 
garty of  Castle  Hoggarty,  county  Maj^o,  she  wore  it  in  her 
bosom  at  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  ball,  where  she  plaj'ed  a  game 
of  piquet  with  the  Commander-in-Chief.  What  could  have 
made  her  put  the  hair  of  her  vulgar  daughters  round  Mick's 
portrait,  I  can't  think  ;  but  so  it  was,  as  you  see  it  this  day. 
'  Madam,'  saj^s  the  Commander-in-Chief,  '  if  that  is  not  my 
friend  Mick  Hoggarty,  I'm  a  Dutchman ! '  Those  were  his 
lordship's  very  words.  Mrs.  Hoggarty  of  Castle  Hoggarty 
took  off  the  brooch  and  showed  it  to  him. 

"  '  Who  is  the  artist?'  saj^s  my  lord.  '  It's  the  most  won- 
derful likeness  I  ever  saw  in  my  life  ! ' 

"  '  Mulcahy,'  says  she,  '  of  Ormond's  Quay.' 

"  'Begad,  I  patronize  him  I '  says  my  lord;  but  presently 
his  face  darkened,  and  he  gave  back  the  picture  with  a  dis- 
satisfied air.  '  There  is  one  fault  in  that  portrait,'  said  his 
lordship,  who  was  a  rigid  disciplinarian ;  '  and  I  wonder  that 
my  friend  Mick,  as  a  military  man,  should  have  overlooked  it.' 

"  '  What's  that?'  says  Mrs.  Hoggarty  of  Castle  Hoggarty. 

"  '  Madam,  he  has  been  painted  without  his  s word- belt  !  * 
and  he  took  up  the  cards  again  in  a  passion,  and  finished  the 
game  witliout  saying  a  single  word. 

"  Tlie  news  was  carried  to  Mr.  Mulcahy  the  next  day,  and 
that  unfortunate  artist  went  mad  immediately  !  He  had  set  his 
whole  reputation  upon  this  miniature,  and  declared  that  it  should 
be  faulth'ss.  Such  was  the  effect  of  the  announcement  upon  his 
suscei)tibl(i  lieart !  When  Mrs.  Hoggarty  died,  your  uncle  took 
the  portrait  and  always  wore  it  himself.  His  sisters  said  it  was 
for  the  sake  of  the;  diamond  ;  wliereas,  ungrateful  things  !  it  was 
merely  on  account  of  their  hair,  and  his  love  for  the  line  arts. 
As  for  the  poor  artist,  my  dear,  some  people  said  it  was  the 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 


7 


profuse  use  of  spirit  that  brought  on  delirium  tremens  ;  but  I 
don't  believe  it.    Take  another  glass  of  Rosolio." 

The  telling  of  this  story  always  put  my  aunt  into  great  good- 
humor,  and  she  promised  at  the  end  of  it  to  pa}^  for  the  new 
setting  of  the  diamond  ;  desiring  me  to  take  it  on  my  arrival  in 
London  to  the  great  jeweller,  Mr.  Polonius,  and  send  her  the 
bill.  '-The  fact  is,"  said  she,  ''that  the  goold  in  which  the 
thing  is  set  is  worth  five  guineas  at  the  very  least,  and  3'ou  can 
have  the  diamond  reset  for  two.  However,  keep  the  remainder, 
dear  Sam,  and  buy  yourself  what  you  p'ease  with  it." 

With  this  the  old  lady  bade  me  adieu.  The  clock  w^as  strik- 
ing twelve  as  1  walked  down  the  village,  for  the  story  of  Mul- 
cahy  always  took  an  hour  in  the  telling,  and  I  went  away  not 
quite  so  down-hearted  as  w^hen  the  present  was  first  made  to  me. 
''After  all,"  thought  I,  "  a  diamond-pin  is  a  handsome  thing, 
and  will  give  me  a  distingiui  air,  though  my  clothes  be  never  so 
shabby  "  —  and  shabby  they  were  without  any  doubt.  "  Well," 
1  said,  "three  guineas,  which  I  shall  have  over,  will  \)uy  me  a 
couple  of  pairs  of  what-d'ye-call-'ems  ;  "  of  which,  entre  nous^ 
I  was  in  great  want,  having  just  then  done  growing,  whereas 
my  pantaloons  were  made  a  good  eighteen  months  before. 

Well,  I  walked  down  the  village,  my  hands  in  my  breeches- 
pocket  ;  I  had  poor  Mary's  purse  there,  having  removed  the 
little  things  which  she  gave  me  the  da}^  before,  and  placed  them 
—  never  mind  where:  but  look  you,  in  those  days  I  had  a 
heart,  and  a  warm  one  too.  I  had  Mary's  purse  ready  for 
my  aunt's  donation,  which  never  came,  and  with  m}'  own  little 
stock  of  money  besides,  that  Mrs.  Hoggarty's  card-parties  had 
lessened  by  a  good  five-and-twenty  shillings,  I  calculated  that, 
after  paying  my  fare,  I  should  get  to  tow^n  with  a  couple  of 
seven-shilling  pieces  in  my  pocket. 

I  walked  down  the  village  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace  ;  so  quick 
that,  if  the  thing  had  been  possible,  1  should  have  overtaken 
ten  o'clock  that  had  passed  hy  me  tw^o  hours  ago,  when  I  was 
listening  to  Mrs.  H.'s  long  stories  over  her  terrible  Rosolio. 
The  truth  is,  at  ten,  I  had  an  appointment  under  a  certain  per- 
son's window,  who  was  to  have  been  looking  at  the  moon  at 
that  hour,  with  her  prettj^  quilled  nightcap  on,  and  her  blessed 
hair  in  papers. 

There  was  the  window^  shut,  and  not  so  much  as  a  candle  in 
it ;  and  though  I  hemmed  and  hawed,  and  whistled  over  the 
garden-paling,  and  sang  a  song  of  which  Somebod}'  was  very 
fond,  and  even  threw  a  pebble  at  the  window,  which  hit  it 
exactly  at  the  opening  of  the  lattice, — I  woke  no  one  except 


8  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMAKSH 


a  great  brute  of  a  house-dog,  that  yelled,  and  howled,  and 
bounced  so  at  me  over  the  rails,  that  I  thought  every  moment 
he  would  have  had  my  nose  between  his  teeth. 

So  I  was  obliged  to  go  oif  as  quickly  as  might  be  ;  and  the 
next  morning  mamma  and  m}^  sisters  made  breakfast  for  me  at 
four,  and  at  five  came  the  True  Bhie  light  six-inside  post-coach 
to  London,  and  I  got  up  on  the  roof  without  having  seen  Marv 
Smith. 

As  we  passed  the  house,  it  did  seem  as  if  the  window-cur- 
tain in  her  room  was  drawn  aside  just  a  little  bit.  Certainly  the 
window  was  open,  and  it  had  been  shut  the  night  before:  but 
away  went  the  coach  ;  and  the  village,  cottage,  and  the  church- 
yard, and  Hicks's  hayricks,  were  soon  out  of  sight. 

"  My  hi,  what  a  pin  !  "  said  a  stable-boy,  who  was  smoking 
a  cigar,  to  the  guard,  looking  at  rae  and  putting  his  finger  to 
his  nose. 

The  fact  is,  that  I  had  never  undressed  since  my  aunt's 
party  ;  and  being  uneasy  in  mind  and  having  all  my  clothes  to 
pack  up,  and  thinking  of  something  else,  had  quite  forgotten 
Mrs.  Hoggarty's  brooch,  which  I  had  stuck  into  my  shirt-frill 
the  night  before. 


CHAPTER  11. 

TELLS  HOW  THE  DIAMOND  IS  BROUGHT  UP  TO  LONDON,  AND 
PRODUCES  WONDERFUL  EFFECTS  BOTH  IN  THE  CITY  AND  AT 
THE  WEST  END. 

The  circumstances  recorded  in  this  story  took  place  some 
score  of  ^  ears  ago,  when,  as  the  reader  ma}^  remember,  there 
was  a  great  mania  in  the  city  of  London  for  establishing 
companies  of  all  sorts ;  by  which  many  people  made  pretty 
fortunes. 

1  was  at  this  period,  as  the  truth  must  be  known,  thirteenth 
clerk  of  twenty-four  young  gents  who  did  the  immense  business 
of  the  Independent  West  Diddlesex  Fire  and  Life  Insurance 
Company,  at  tlieir  splendid  stone  mansion  in  Cornhill.  Mamma 
had  sunk  a  sum  of  four  hundred  pounds  in  the  purchase  of  an 
annuity  at  this  office,  which  paid  her  no  less  than  six-and- thirty 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  9 


pounds  a  year,  when  no  other  company  in  London  would  give 
her  more  than  twenty-four.  The  chairman  of  the  directors  was 
the  great  Mr.  Brough,  of  the  house  of  Brough  and  Hoff, 
Crutched  Friars,  Turkey  Merchants.  It  was  a  new  house,  but 
did  a  tremendous  business  in  the  fig  and  sponge  way,  and  more 
in  the  Zante  currant  line  than  any  other  firm  in  the  city. 

Brough  was  a  great  man  among  the  Dissenting  connection, 
and  you  saw  his  name  for  hundreds  at  the  head  of  every  chari- 
table society  patronized  by  those  good  people.  He  had  nine 
clerks  residing  at  his  office  in  Crutched  Friars  ;  he  would  not 
take  one  without  a  certificate  from  the  schoolmaster  and  clergy- 
man of  his  native  place,  strongly  vouching  for  his  morals  and 
doctrine ;  and  the  places  were  so  run  after,  tliat  he  got  a 
premium  of  four  or  five  hundred  pounds  with  each  young  gent, 
whom  he  made  to  slave  for  ten  hours  a  day,  and  to  whom  in 
compensation  he  taught  all  the  mj^steries  of  the  Turkish 
business.  He  was  a  great  man  on  'Change,  too  ;  and  our 
young  chaps  used  to  hear  from  the  stockbrokers'  clerks  (we 
commonly  dined  together  at  the  Cock  and  Woolpack,"  a  re- 
spectable house,  where  you  get  a  capital  cut  of  meat,  bread, 
vegetables,  cheese,  half  a  pint  of  porter,  and  a  penny  to  the 
waiter,  for  a  shilling)  —  the  young  stockbrokers  used  to  tell  us 
of  immense  bargains  in  Spanish,  Greek,  and  Columbians,  that 
Brough  made.  Hoff  had  nothing  to  do  with  them,  but  stopped 
at  home,  minding  exclusively  the  business  of  the  house.  He 
was  a  young  chap,  very  quiet  and  steady,  of  the  Quaker  per- 
suasion, and  had  been  taken  into  partnership  by  Bi  ough  for  a 
matter  of  thirty  thousand  pounds  :  and  a  very  good  bargain  too. 
I  was  told  in  the  strictest  confidence  that  the  house,  one  year 
with  another,  divided  a  good  seven  thousand  pounds  ;  of  which 
Brough  had  half,  Hoflf  two-sixths,  and  the  other  sixth  went  to 
old  Tudlow,  who  had  been  Mr.  Brough's  clerk  before  the  new 
partnership  begar^.  Tudlow  always  went  about  very  shabbv, 
and  we  thought  him  an  old  miser.  One  of  our  gents.  Bob 
Swinney  by  name,  used  to  say  tliat  Tudlow's  share  was  all  non- 
sense, and  that  Brough  had  it  all ;  but  Bob  was  always  too 
knowing  by  half,  used  to  wear  a  green  cut-away  coat,  and  had 
his  free  admission  to  Covent  Garden  theatre.  He  was  always 
talking  down  at  the  shop,  as  we  called  it  (it  wasn't  a  shop,  but 
as  splendid  an  office  as  any  in  Cornhill)  — he  was  always  talking 
about  Vestris  and  Miss  Tree,  and  singing 


"  The  bramble,  the  bramble. 
The  jolly,  jolly  bramble ! " 


10  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


one  of  Charles  Kemble's  famous  songs  in  "Maid  Marian;"  a 
play  that  was  all  the  rage  then,  taken  from  a  famous  story-book 
by  one  Peacock,  a  clerk  in  the  India  House :  and  a  precious 
good  place  he  has  too. 

When  Brough  heard  how  Master  Swinney  abused  him,  and 
had  his  admission  to  the  theatre,  he  came  one  da}'  down  to  the 
office  where  we  all  were,  four-and-twenty  of  us,  and  made  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  speeches  I  ever  heard  in  my  life.  He  said 
that  for  slander  he  did  not  care,  contumely  was  the  lot  of  every 
public  man  who  had  austere  principles  of  his  own,  and  acted  by 
tliem  austerely  ;  but  what  he  did  care  for  was  the  character  of 
ever}^  single  gentleman  forming  a  part  of  the  Independent  West 
Diddlesex  Association.  The  welfare  of  thousands  was  in  their 
keeping ;  millions  of  money  were  daily  passing  through  their 
hands  ;  the  city  —  the  country  looked  upon  them  for  order, 
honesty,  and  good  example.  And  if  he  found  amongst  those 
whom  he  considered  as  his  children  —  those  wiiom  he  loved  as 
his  own  flesh  and  blood  —  that  that  order  was  departed  from, 
that  that  regularity  was  not  maintained,  that  that  good  example 
was  not  kept  up  (Mr.  B.  always  spoke  in  this  emphatic  wa}^)  — 
if  he  found  his  children  departing  from  the  wholesome  rules  of 
morahty,  religion,  and  decorum  —  if  he  found  in  high  or  low  — 
in  the  head  clerk  at  six  hundred  a  3'ear  down  to  the  porter  who 
cleaned  the  steps  —  if  he  found  the  slightest  taint  of  dissipation, 
he  would  cast  the  offender  from  him  —  3'ea,  though  he  were  his 
own  son,  he  would  cast  him  from  him ! 

As  he  spoke  this,  Mr.  Brough  burst  into  tears ;  and  we  who 
didn't  know  what  was  coming,  looked  at  each  other  as  pale  as 
parsnips  :  all  except  Swinney,  who  was  twelfth  clerk,  and  made 
believe  to  whistle.  When  Mr.  B.  had  wiped  his  e3'es  and  re- 
covered himself,  he  turned  round ;  and  oh,  how  my  heart 
thumped  as  he  looked  me  full  in  the  face  !  How  it  was  re- 
lieved, though,  when  he  shouted  out  in  a  thundering  voice,  — 

"  Mr.  Robert  Swinney  ! 

"  Sir  to  you,"  says  Swinnej^,  as  cool  as  possible,  and  some 
of  the  chaps  began  to  titter. 

Mr.  Swinney  !  "  roared  Brough,  in  a  voice  still  bigger  than 
before,  "  when  you  came  into  this  office  —  this  family,  sir,  for 
such  it  is,  as  I  am  proud  to  say  —  you  found  three-and-twenty 
as  pious  and  well-regulated  young  men  as  ever  labored  together 
—  as  ever  had  confided  to  them  the  wealth  of  this  mighty  capi- 
tal and  famous  (nni)ire.  You  found,  sir,  sobriety,  regularit}", 
and  decorum  ;  no  [)rofane  songs  were  uttered  in  this  place 
sacred  to  —  to  business  ;  no  slanders  were  whispered  against 


A  Black  Sheep. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNiVERSiTY  OF  tUINOiS 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  11 


the  heads  of  the  establishment  —  but  over  them  I  pass  :  I  can 
afford,  sir,  to  pass  them  by  —  no  worldly  conversation  or  foul 
jesting  disturbed  the  attention  of  these  gentlemen,  or  desecrated 
the  peaceful  scene  of  their  labors.  You  found  Christians  and 
gentlemen,  sir ! " 

I  paid  for  my  place  like  the  rest,''  said  Swinney.  "  Didn't 
my  governor  take  sha  ?  " 

"  Silence,  sir!  Your  worthy  father  did  take  shares  in  this 
establishment,  which  will  yield  him  one  day  an  immense  profit. 
He  did  take  shares,  sir,  or  3^ou  never  would  have  been  here. 
I  glory  in  saying  that  every  one  of  my  young  friends  around 
me  has  a  father,  a  brother,  a  dear  relative  or  friend,  who  is 
connected  in  a  similar  way  with  our  glorious  enterprise  ;  and 
that  not  one  of  them  is  there  but  has  an  interest  in  procuring, 
at  a  liberal  commission,  other  persons  to  join  the  ranks  of  our 
association.  But^  sir,  I  am  its  chief.  You  will  find,  sir,  yoxxv 
appointment  signed  by  me ;  and  in  like  manner,  I,  John 
Brough,  annul  it.  Go  from  us,  sir  I  —  leave  us  —  quit  a  fam- 
ily that  can  no  longer  receive  you  in  its  bosom  !  Mr.  Swinney, 
I  have  wept  —  I  have  praj'ed,  sir,  before  I  came  to  this  deter- 
mination ;  I  have  taken  counsel,  sir,  and  am  resolved.  Depart 
from  out  of  us  !  " 

Not  without  three  months'  salary,  though,  Mr.  B.  :  that 
cock  won't  fight !  " 

"  The}^  shall  be  paid  to  your  father,  sir." 

''My  father  be  hanged!  I'll  tell  3^ou  what,  Brough,  I'm 
of  age  ;  and  if  you  don't  pay  me  m}^  salary,  I'll  arrest  you,  — 
b}^  Jingo,  I  will !  I'll  have  you  in  quod,  or  my  name's  not 
Bob  Swinney !  " 

"  Make  out  a  cheque,  Mr.  Roundhand,  for  the  three  months' 
salary  of  this  perverted  young  man." 

"  Twent3^-one  pun'  five,  Roundhand,  and  nothing  for  the 
stamp  !  "  cried  out  that  audacious  Swinne3\  There  it  is,  sir, 
re-ceipted.  You  needn't  cross  it  to  m3^  banker's.  And  if  an3^ 
of  3'Ou  gents  like  a  glass  of  punch  this  evening  at  eight  o'clock. 
Bob  Swinney's  your  man,  and  nothing  to  pay.  If  Mr.  Brough 
would  do  me  the  honor  to  come  in  and  take  a  whack?  Come, 
don't  say  no,  if  you'd  rather  not !  " 

We  couldn't  stand  this  impudence,  and  all  burst  out  laugh- 
ing like  mad. 

■  ''Leave  the  room!"  yelled  Mr.  Brough,  whose  face  had 
turned  quite  blue ;  and  so  Bob  took  his  white  hat  off  the  peg, 
and  strolled  away  with  his  "tile,"  as  he  called  it,  very  much 
on  one  side.    When  he  was  gone,  Mr.  Brough  gave  us  another 


12  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


lecture,  by  which  we  all  determined  to  profit ;  and  going  up  to 
Roundhand's  desk  put  his  arm  round  his  neck,  and  looked  over 
the  ledger. 

''What  money  has  been  paid  in  to-day,  Roundhand?"  he 
said,  in  a  very  kind  way. 

The  widow,  sir,  came  with  her  money :  nine  hundred  and 
four  ten  and  six  —  say  904/.  10s.  6d.    Captain  Sparr,  sir,  paid 
his  shares  up  ;  grumbles,  though,  and  says  he's  no  more ;  fifty 
shares,  two  instalments  —  three  fifties,  sir." 
He's  alwa3^s  grumbling !  " 

"  He  says  he  has  not  a  shilling  to  bless  himself  with  until 
our  dividend  day." 

"  Any  more?" 

Mr.  Roundhand  went  through  the  book,  and  made  it  up 
nineteen  hundred  pounds  in  all.  We  w^ere  doing  a  famous 
business  now  ;  though  when  I  came  into  the  oflflce  we  used  to 
sit  and  laugh,  and  joke,  and  read  the  newspapers  all  day ; 
bustling  into  our  seats  whenever  a  stray  customer  came. 
Brough  never  cared  about  our  laughing  and  singing  then^  and 
was  hand  and  glove  with  Bob  Swinney ;  but  that  was  in  early 
times,  before  we  were  well  in  harness. 

''Nineteen  hundred  pounds,  and  a  thousand  pounds  in 
shares.  Bravo,  Roundhand  —  bravo,  gentlemen  !  Remember, 
every  share  you  bring  in  brings  you  five  per  cent  down  on  the 
nail !  Look  to  your  friends  —  stick  to  your  desks  —  be  regu- 
lar—  I  hope  none  of  you  forget  church.  Who  takes  Mr.  Swin- 
ney's  place  ?  " 

"Mr.  Samuel  Titmarsh,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  congratulate  you.  Give  me  your  hand, 
sir :  3'ou  are  now  twelfth  clerk  of  this  Association,  and  your 
salary  is  consequently  increased  five  pounds  a  j^ear.  How  is 
your  worthy  mother,  sir  —  your  dear  and  excellent  parent?  In 
good  health,  I  trust?  And  long  —  long,  I  fervently  pray,  may 
this  oflfice  continue  to  pay  her  annuity  !  Remember,  if  she  has 
more  money  to  lay  out,  there  is  higher  interest  than  the  last 
for  her,  for  she  is  a  3'ear  older ;  and  five  per  cent  for  3'ou,  my 
boy!  Wliy  not  you  as  well  as  another?  Young  men  will  be 
young  men,  and  a  ten-pound  note  does  no  harm.  Does  it,  Mr. 
Abednego?  " 

"  Oh,  no!"  says  Abednego,  who  was  third  clerk,  and  who 
was  the  chap  that  informed  against  Swinne}^ ;  and  he  began  to 
laugh,  as  indeed  we  all  did  whenever  Mr.  Brough  made  any- 
thing like  a  joke:  not  that  they  were  jokes;  only  we  used  to 
know  it  by  his  face. 


AND  THE  GRExiT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  13 


"Oh,  b3'-the-b3%  Roundhand,"  says  he,  ''a  word  with  you 
on  business.  Mrs.  Brough  wants  to  know  why  the  deuce  you 
never  come  down  to  Fulham." 

''Law,  that's  very  polite!"  said  Mr.  Roundhand,  quite 
pleased. 

"  Name  your  day,  my  boy !  Say  Saturday,  and  bring  your 
nightcap  with  you." 

"You're  very  polite,  I'm  sure.  I  should  be  delighted  be- 
yond anything,  but  —  " 

"  But —  no  buts,  my  boy  !  Hark  ye  !  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  does  me  the  honor  to  dine  with  us,  and  1  want  3'ou 
to  see  him  ;  for  the  truth  is,  I  have  bragged  about  you  to  his 
lordship  as  the  best  actuary  in  the  three  kingdoms." 

Roundhand  could  not  refuse  such  an  invitation  as  that^ 
though  he  had  told  us  how  Mrs.  R.  and  he  were  going  to  pass 
Saturday  and  Sunday  at  Putney ;  and  we  who  knew  what  a  life 
the  poor  fellow  led,  were  sure  that  the  head  clerk  would  be 
prettily  scolded  by  his  lady  when  she  heard  what  was  going  on. 
She  disliked  Mrs.  Brough  very  much,  that  was  the  fact ;  be- 
cause Mrs.  B.  kept  a  carriage,  and  said  she  didn't  know  where 
Pentonville  was,  and  couldn't  call  on  Mrs.  Roundhand. 
Though,  to  be  sure,  her  coachman  might  have  found  out  the 
way. 

"And  oh,  Roundhand!"  continued  our  governor,  '^draw  a 
cheque  for  seven  hundred,  will  you?  Come,  don't  stare,  man  ; 
I'm  not  going  to  run  away  !  That's  right,  —  seven  hundred  — 
and  ninety  say,  while  you're  about  it !  Our  board  meets  on 
Saturday,  and  never  fear  I'll  account  for  it  to  them  before  I 
drive  vou  down.  We  shall  take  up  the  Chancellor  at  White- 
hall." ' 

So  saying  Mr.  Brough  folded  up  the  cheque,  and  shaking 
hands  with  Mr.  Roundhand  very  cordially,  got  into  his  carriage- 
and-four  (he  always  drove  four  horses  even  in  the  city,  where 
it's  so  difficult),  which  was  waiting  at  tlie  office-door  for  him. 

Bob  Swinne}^  used  to  sa}^  that  he  charged  two  of  the  horses 
to  the  company ;  but  there  was  never  believing  half  of  what 
that  Bob  said,  he  used  to  laugh  and  joke  so.  I  don't  know 
how  it  was,  but  I  and  a  gent  by  the  name  of  Hoskins  (eleventh 
clerk),  who  lived  together  with  me  in  Salisbury  Square,  Fleet 
Street  —  where  we  occupied  a  ver\'  genteel  two-pair  —  found 
our  flute  duet  rather  tiresome  that  evening,  and  as  it  w^as  a 
very  fine  night,  strolled  out  for  a  walk  West  End  way.  When 
we  arrived  opposite  "  Covent  Garden  Theatre"  we  found  our- 
selves close  to  the  "  Globe  Tavern,"  and  recollected  Bob  Swin- 


14  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


ney's  hospitable  invitation.  We  never  fancied  that  he  had 
meant  the  invitation  in  earnest,  but  thought  we  might  as  well 
look  in :  at  any  rate  there  could  be  no  harm  in  doing  so. 

There,  to  be  sure,  in  the  back  drawing-room,  where  he  said 
he  would  be,  we  found  Bob  at  the  head  of  a  table,  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  smoke  of  cigars,  and  eighteen  of  our  gents  rat- 
tling and  banging  away  at  the  table  with  the  bottoms  of  their 
glasses. 

What  a  shout  they  made  as  we  came  in  !  "  Hurray  !  "  says 
Bob,  ''here's  two  more!  Two  more  chairs,  Mar}',  two  more 
tumblers,  two  more  hot  waters,  and  two  more  goes  of  gin  ! 
Who  would  have  thought  of  seeing  Tit,  in  the  name  of  good- 
ness ?  " 

Why,"  said  I,  ''we  only  came  in  by  the  merest  chance." 
At  this  word  there  was  another  tremendous  roar :  and  it  is 
a  positive  fact,  that  every  man  of  the  eighteen  had  said  he  came 
by  chance  !  However,  chance  gave  us  a  very  jovial  night ; 
and  that  hospitable  Bob  Swinney  paid  every  shilling  of  the 
score. 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  says  he,  as  he  paid  the  bill,  "  Til  give  you 
the  health  of  John  Brough,  Esquire,  and  thanks  to  him  for  the 
present  of  21/.  5s,  which  he  made  me  this  morning.  What  do 
I  sa}^  —  211,  5s,?  That  and  a  month's  salar}^  that  I  should  have 
had  to  pay  —  forfeit  —  down  on  the  nail,  by  jingo  1  for  leaving 
the  shop  as  I  intended  to  do  to-morrow  morning.  I've  got  a 
place  —  a  tip-top  place,  I  tell  you.  Five  guineas  a  week,  six 
journej's  a  year,  m}^  own  horse  and  gig,  and  to  travel  in  the 
West  of  England  in  oil  and  spermaceti.  Here's  confusion  to 
gas,  and  the  health  of  Messrs.  Gann  &  Co.,  of  Thames  Street 
in  the  cit\^  of  London  !  " 

I  have  been  thus  particular  in  my  account  of  the  West  Did- 
dlesex  Assurance  Office,  and  of  Mr.  Brough,  the  managing 
director,  (though  the  real  names  are  neither  given  to  the  office 
nor  to  the  chairman,  as  3'ou  ma}'  be  sure,)  because  the  fate  of 
me  and  my  diamond-pin  was  mysteriously  bound  up  with  both  : 
as  I  am  about  to  show. 

You  must  know  that  I  was  rather  respected  among  our 
gents  at  the  West  Diddlesex,  because  I  came  of  a  better  family 
than  most  of  them  ;  had  received  a  classical  education ;  and 
especially  because  I  had  a  rich  aunt,  Mrs.  Iloggarty,  about 
whom,  as  must  be  confessed,  I  used  to  boast  a  good  deal. 
There  is  no  harm  in  being  respected  in  this  world,  as  I 
have  found  out ;  and  if  you  don't  brag  a  little  for  yourself, 
depend  on  it  there  is  no  person  of  your  acquaintance  who  will 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  15 


tell  the  world  of  your  merits,  and  take  the  trouljle  off  your 
hands. 

So  that  when  I  came  back  to  the  office  after  my  visit  at  home, 
and  took  my  seat  at  the  old  day-book  opposite  the  dingy  win- 
dow that  looks  into  Birchin  Lane,  I  pretty  soon  let  the  fellows 
know  that  Mrs.  Hoggarty,  though  she  had  not  given  me  a  large 
sum  of  money,  as  I  expected  —  indeed,  1  had  promised  a  dozen 
of  them  a  treat  down  the  river,  should  the  promised  riches  have 
come  to  me  —  I  let  them  know,  I  say,  that  though  my  aunt 
had  not  given  me  Siuy  money,  she  had  given  me  a  splendid 
diamond,  worth  at  least  thirty  guineas,  and  that  some  day  I 
would  sport  it  at  the  shop. 

Oh,  let's  see  it ! "  says  Abednego,  whose  father  was  a  mock- 
jewel  and  gold-lace  merchant  in  Han  way  Yard  ;  and  I  promised 
that  he  should  have  a  sight  of  it  as  soon  as  it  was  set.  As  my 
pocket-money  was  run  out  too,  (by  coach-hire  to  and  from  home, 
five  shillings  to  our  maid  at  home,  ten  to  my  aunt's  maid  and 
man,  five-and-twenty  shilhngs  lost  at  whist,  as  I  said,  and 
fifteen-and-six  paid  for  a  silver  scissors  for  the  dear  little  fingers 
of  Somebod}',)  Roundhand,  who  was  verv  good-natured,  asked 
me  to  dine,  and  advanced  me  71.  Is.  8d.^  a  month's  salary.  It 
was  at  Roundhand's  house,  Mj'ddelton  Square,  Pentonville,  over 
a  fillet  of  veal  and  bacon  and  a  glass  of  port,  that  I  learned  and 
saw  how  his  wife  ill-treated  him  ;  as  I  have  told  before.  Poor 
fellow  !  —  we  under-clerks  all  thought  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  sit  at 
a  desk  b}'  oneself,  and  have  50/.  per  month,  as  Roundhand  had  ; 
but  I've  a  notion  that  Hoskins  and  I,  blowing  duets  on  the  fiute 
together  in  our  second  floor  in  Salisbury  Square,  were  a  great 
deal  more  at  ease  than  our  head  —  and  more  in  harmony,  too  ; 
though  we  made  sad  work  of  the  music,  certainly. 

One  day  Gus  Hoskins  and  I  asked  leave  from  Roundhand  to 
be  off  at  three  o'clock,  as  we  had  particular  business  at  the 
West  End.  He  knew  it  was  about  the  great  Hoggarty  diamond, 
and  gave  us  permission  ;  so  off  we  set.  When  we  reached  St. 
Martin's  Lane,  Gus  got  a  cigar,  to  give  himself  as  it  Avere  a 
distingue  air,  and  puffed  at  it  all  the  way  up  the  Lane,  and 
through  the  alleys  into  Coventry  Street,  where  Mr.  Polonius's 
shop  is,  as  ever3'bod3^  knows. 

The  door  was  open,  and  a  number  of  carriages  full  of  ladies 
were  drawing  up  and  setting  down.  Gus  kept  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  — trousers  were  worn  very  full  then,  with  large  tucks, 
and  pigeon-holes  for  your  boots,  or  Bluchers,  to  come  through 
(the  fashionables  wore  boots,  but  we  chaps  in  the  city,  on 
80/.  a  year,  contented  ourselves  with  Bluchers)  ;  and  as  Gus 


16  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


stretched  out  his  pantaloons  as  wide  as  he  could  from  his  hips, 
and  kept  blowing  aw^ay  at  his  cheroot,  and  clamping  with  the 
iron  heels  of  his  boots,  and  had  yery  large  whiskers  for  so 
3'oung  a  man,  he  really  looked  quite  the  genteel  thing,  and  was 
taken  b}'  everybody  to  be  a  person  of  consideration. 

He  would  not  come  into  the  shop  though,  but  stood  staring 
at  the  gold  pots  and  kettles  in  the  window  outside.  I  went  in  ; 
and  after  a  little  hemming  and  hawing  —  for  I  had  never  been 
at  such  a  fashionable  place  before  —  asked  one  of  the  gentle- 
men to  let  me  speak  to  Mr.  Polonius. 

What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?  "  says  Mr.  Polonius,  who  was 
standing  close  by,  as  it  happened,  serving  three  ladies,  —  a  very 
old  one  and  two  j^oung  ones,  who  were  examining  pearl-neck- 
laces yery  attentively. 

''Sir,"  said  L  producing  my  jewel  out  of  my  coat-pocket, 
"this  jewel  has,  I  believe,  been  in  your  house  before:  it  be- 
longed to  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Hoggarty,  of  Castle  Hoggarty."  The 
old  lad}^  standing  near  looked  round  as  I  spoke. 

I  sold  her  a  gold  neck-chain  and  repeating  watch  in  the 
year  1795,"  said  Mr.  Polonius,  who  made  it  a  point  to  recollect 
everything  ;  and  a  silver  punch-ladle  to  the  captain.  How  is 
the  major  —  colonel  —  general  —  a}^  sir  ?  " 

''The  general,"  said  I,  "I  am  sorr}^  to  sa}^"  —  though  I 
was  quite  proud  that  this  man  of  fashion  should  address  me  so 
—  "Mr.  Hoggart}'  is  —  no  more.  M}^  aunt  has  made  me  a 
present,  however,  of  this  —  this  trinket — which,  as  you  see, 
contains  her  husband's  portrait,  that  I  will  thank  3'ou,  sir,  to 
preserve  for  me  very  carefull}^ ;  and  she  wishes  that  you  would 
set  this  diamond  neatly." 

"  Neatly  and  handsomely  of  course,  sir." 

"  Neatl}^,  in  the  present  fashion;  and  send  down  the  ac- 
count to  her.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  gold  about  the  trinket, 
for  which,  of  course,  you  will  make  an  allow^ance." 

"To  the  last  fraction  of  a  sixpence,"  says  Mr.  Polonius, 
bowing,  and  looking  at  the  jewel.  "  It's  a  wonderful  piece  of 
goods,  certainl}',"  said  he  ;  "  though  the  diamond's  a  neat  little 
bit,  certainly.  Do,  my  lady,  look  at  it.  The  thing  is  of  Irish 
manufacture,  bears  the  stamp  of  '95,  and  will  recall  perhaps  the 
times  of  your  ladyship's  earliest  youth." 

"Get  ye  out,  Mr.  Polonius  !"  said  the  old  lady,  a  little 
wizen-faced  old  lady,  with  her  face  puckered  up  in  a  million  of 
wrinkles.  "  How  dar  3'ou,  sir,  to  talk  such  nonsense  to  an  old 
woman  like  me?  Wasn't  I  fifty  years  old  in  '95,  and  a  grand- 
mother in  '96?"    She  put  out  a  pair  of  withered,  trembling 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  17 


hands,  took  up  the  locket,  examined  it  for  a  minute,  and 
then  burst  out  laughing,  ''As  I  live,  it's  the  great  Iloggarty 
diamond  ! " 

Good  heavens !  what  was  this  talisman  that  had  come  into 
my  possession  ? 

"Look,  girls,"  continued  the  old  lady;  "this  is  the  great 
jew'l  of  all  Ireland.  This  red- faced  man  in  the  middle  is  poor 
Mick  Iloggart}',  a  cousin  of  mine,  who  was  in  love  with  me  in 
the  year  '84,  when  I  had  just  lost  your  poor  dear  grandpapa. 
These  thirteen  sthreamers  of  red  hair  represent  his  thirteen 
celebrated  sisters  —  Bidd}^,  Minn}^,  Thedy,  Widdy  (short  for 
WilUamina),  Freddy,  Izzy,  Tizz}^,  Mysie,  Grizz}^,  Poll^^,  Dolly, 
Nell,  and  Bell  —  all  married,  all  ug\y^  and  all  carr'ty  hair. 
And  of  which  are  you  the  son,  young  man?  —  though,  to  do 
you  justice,  5^ou're  not  like  the  family." 

Two  prettj^  young  ladies  turned  two  pretty  pairs  of  black 
eyes  at  me,  and  waited  for  an  answer :  which  they  would  have 
had,  only  the  old  lady  began  rattling  on  a  hundred  stories 
about  the  thirteen  ladies  above  named,  and  all  their  lovers,  all 
their  disappointments,  and  all  the  duels  of  Mick  Hoggarty. 
She  was  a  chronicle  of  fifty -3^ears-old  scandal.  At  last  she  was 
interrupted  by  a  violent  fit  of  coughing  ;  at  the  conclusion  of 
which  Mr.  Polonius  very  respectfully  asked  me  where  he  should 
send  the  pin,  and  whether  I  would  like  the  hair  kept. 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  never  mind  the  hair." 

"  And  the  pin,  sir?  " 

I  had  felt  ashamed  about  telling  my  address  :  "  But,  hang 
it !  "  thought  I,  "  why  should  I  ?  — 

*  A  king  can  make  a  belted  knight, 
A  marquess,  duke,  and  a'  that ; 
An  honest  man's  abune  liis  might  — 
Gude  faith,  he  canna  fa'  that/ 

Why  need  I  care  about  telling  these  ladies  where  I  live  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  says  I,  "  have  the  goodness  to  send  the  parcel,  when 
done,  to  Mr.  Titmarsh,  No.  3,  Bell  Lane,  Salisburv  Square, 
near  St.  Bride's  Church,  Fleet  Street.  Ring,  if  you  please,  the 
two-pair  bell." 

What,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Polonius. 

"  Hwatr'  shrieked  the  old  lady.  Mr.  Hwat?  Mais,  ma 
chere,  c'est  impayahle.  Come  along' —  here's  the  carr'age  ?  Give 
me  your  arm,  Mr.  Hwat,  and  get  inside,  and  tell  me  all  about 
your  thirteen  aunts." 

She  seized  on  my  elbow  and  hobbled  through  the  shop  as 
fast  as  possible  ;  the  young  ladies  following  her,  laughing. 

2 


18 


THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


Now  jump  in,  do  you  hear?"  said  she,  poking  her  sharp 
nose  out  of  the  window. 

I  can't,  ma'am,"  says  I ;  ''I  have  a  friend." 
"  Pooh,  pooh  !  send  'um  to  the  juice,  and  jump  in  !  "  And 
before  ahuost  I  could  say  a  word,  a  great  powder' d  fellow  in 
yellow-plush  breeches  pushed  me  up  the  steps  and  banged  the 
door  to. 

I  looked  just  for  one  minute  as  the  barouche  drove  away  at 
Hoskins,  and  never  shall  forget  his  figure.  There  stood  Gus, 
his  mouth  wide  open,  his  eyes  staring,  a  smoking  cheroot  in  his 
hand,  w^ondering  with  all  his  might  at  the  strange  thing  that 
had  just  happened  to  me. 

' '  Who  is  that  Titmarsh  ?  "  says  Gus  :  ' '  there's  a  coronet  on 
the  carriage,  b}^  jingo  !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

HOW   THE    POSSESSOR    OF  THE  DIAMOND    IS  WHISKED    INTO  A 
MAGNIFICENT  CHARIOT,  AND  HAS  YET  FURTHER  GOOD  LUCK. 

I  SAT  on  the  back  seat  of  the  carriage,  near  a  veiy  nice 
young  lad}^,  about  m}^  dear  Mary's  age  —  that  is  to  sa}',  seven- 
teen and  three  quarters  ;  and  opposite  us  sat  the  old  countess 
and  her  other  granddaughter  —  handsome  too,  but  ten  years 
older.  I  recollect  I  had  on  that  day  my  blue  coat  and  brass 
buttons,  nankeen  trousers,  a  wdiite  sprig  waistcoat,  and  one  of 
Dando's  silk  hats,  that  had  just  come  in  in  the  year  '22,  and 
looked  a  great  deal  more  glossy  than  the  best  beaver. 

"And  who  was  that  hidjus  manster"  —  that  was  the  way 
her  lad3'ship  pronounced, —  ''that  ojous  vulgar  wretch,  with 
the  iron  heels  to  liis  boots,  and  the  big  mouth,  and  the  imi- 
tation goold  neck-chain,  who  steered  at  us  so  as  we  got  into 
the  carr'age  ?" 

IIow  slie  should  have  known  that  Gus's  chain  was  mosaic  I 
can't  tell ;  but  so  it  was,  and  we  had  bought  it  for  five-and- 
twenty  and  sixpence  only  the  week  before  at  M'Phail's,  in  St. 
Paul's  Churchyard.  But  I  did  not  like  to  hear  my  friend 
abused,  and  so  spoke  out  for  him, — 

''Ma'am,"  says  I,  "that  young  gentleman's  name  is  Au- 
gustus lloskins.  We  live  together ;  and  a  better  or  more 
kind-hearted  fellow  does  not  exist." 


A  Coronet,  by  Jingo! 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGG  ARTY  DIAMOND.  19 


"  You  are  quite  right  to  stand  up  for  your  friends,  sir,"  said 
the  second  lady  ;  whose  name,  it  appears,  was  Lady  Jane,  but 
whom  the  grandmamma  called  Lady  Jene. 

"  Well,  upon  me  canscience,  so  he  is  now.  Lady  Jene  ;  and 
I  like  sper't  in  a  3'Oung  man.  So  his  name  is  Iloskins,  is  it? 
I  know,  my  dears,  all  the  Hoskinses  in  England.  There  are 
the  Lincolnshire  Hoskinses,  the  Shropshire  Hoskinses :  they 
say  the  admiral's  daughter.  Bell,  was  in  love  with  a  black  foot- 
man, or  boatswain,  or  some  such  thing  ;  but  the  world's  so 
censorious.  There's  old  Doctor  Iloskins  of  Bath,  who  attended 
poor  dear  Drum  in  the  quinsy  ;  and  poor  dear  old  Fred  Hos- 
kins,  the  gout}^  general :  I  remember  him  as  thin  as  a  lath  in 
the  year  '84,  and  as  active  as  a  harlequin,  and  in  love  with  me 
—  oh,  how  he  was  in  love  with  me  !  " 

You  seem  to  have  had  a  host  of  admirers  in  those  days, 
grandmamma?"  said  Lad\^  Jane. 

Hundreds,  my  dear,  —  hundreds  of  thousands.  I  was  the 
toast  of  Bath,  and  a  great  beauty,  too  :  would  3  ou  ever  have 
thought  it  now,  upon  your  conscience  and  without  flatter}^, 
Mr.-a-What-d'ye-call-'im  ?  " 

'•Indeed,  ma'am,  I  never  should,"  I  answered,  for  the  old 
lad}^  was  as  uglj^  as  possible  ;  and  at  m}'  saying  this  the  two 
young  ladies  began  screaming  with  laughter,  and  I  saw  the 
two  great-whiskered  footmen  grinning  over  the  back  of  the 
carriage. 

"  Upon  my  w^ord,  you're  mighty  candid,  Mr.  What's-your- 
name  —  might}'  candid  indeed ;  but  I  like  candor  in  3  oung 
people.  But  a  beaut}'  I  was.  Just  ask  your  friend's  uncle  the 
general.  He's  one  of  the  Lincolnshire  Hoskinses  —  I  knew  he 
was  by  the  strong  famil3'  likeness.  Is  he  the  eldest  son?  It's 
a  prett3'  property,  though  sadly  encumbered  ;  for  old  Sir  George 
was  the  divvle  of  a  man  —  a  friend  of  IIanbur3^  Williams,  and 
L3'ttleton,  and  those  horrid,  monstrous,  ojous  people  !  How 
much  will  he  have  now,  mister,  when  the  admiral  dies  ?  " 

''W^h3%  ma'am,  I  can't  sa3^ ;  but  the  admiral  is  not  m}^ 
friend's  father." 

"Not  his  father?  —  but  he  is,  I  tell  3'ou,  and  I'm  never 
wrong.    Who  is  his  father,  then  ?  " 

"Ma'am,  Gus's  father's  a  leather- seller,  in  Skinner  Street, 
Snow  Hill,  —  a  ver}"  respectable  house,  ma'am.  But  Gus  is 
onl}'  third  son,  and  so  can't  expect  a  great  share  in  the  prop- 
erty." 

The  two  3^oung  ladies  smiled  at  this  —  the  old  lady  said, 
*'Hwat?" 


20  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


"  I  like  you,  sir,"  Lad}'  Jane  said,  for  not  being  ashamed 
of  your  friends,  whatever  their  rank  of  life  may  be.  Shall 
we  have  the  pleasure  of  setting  you  down  anywhere,  Mr. 
Titmarsh  ?  " 

"  Nowaj's  particular,  my  lady,"  sa3's  I.  We  have  a  holi- 
day" at  our  office  to-day  —  at  least  Roundhand  gave  me  and  Gus 
leave  ;  and  I  shall  be  very  happy,  indeed,  to  take  a  drive  in 
the  Park,  if  it's  no  offence." 

"I'm  sure  it  will  give  us  —  infinite  pleasure,"  said  Lad}^ 
Jane  ;  though  rather  in  a  grave  way. 

Oh,  that  it  will !  "  says  Lady  Fanny,  clapping  her  hands  : 
"  won't  it,  grandmamma  ?  And  after  we  have  been  in  the  Park, 
we  can  walk  in  Kensington  Gardens,  if  Mr.  Titmarsh  will  be 
good  enough  to  accompany  us." 

"Indeed,  Fanny,  we  will  do  no  such  thing,"  says  Lady 
Jane. 

"Indeed  but  we  will  though!"  shrieked  out  Lady  Drum. 
"  Ain't  I  d3ing  to  know  everything  about  his  uncle  and  thirteen 
aunts?  and  3'ou're  all  chattering  so,  3'ou  3'oung  women,  that  not 
a  blessed  syllable  will  you  allow  me  or  my  young  friend  here  to 
speak." 

Lady  Jane  gave  a  shrug  with  her  shoulders,  and  did  not  say 
a  single  word  more.  Lady  P'annj^  who  was  as  ga}'  as  a  3'oung 
kitten  (if  I  ma3'  be  allowed  so  to  speak  of  the  aristocracy), 
laughed,  and  blushed,  and  giggled,  and  seemed  quite  to  enjo3'her 
sister's  ill  humor.  And  the  countess  began  at  once,  and  entered 
into  the  histor3"  of  the  thirteen  Misses  Hoggart3',  which  was 
not  near  finished  when  we  entered  the  Park. 

When  there,  3'ou  can't  think  what  hundreds  of  gents  on  horse- 
back came  to  the  carriage  and  talked  to  the  ladies.  The3^  had 
their  joke  for  Lad3^  Drum,  who  seemed  to  be  a  character  in  her 
way  ;  their  bow  for  Lad3^  Jane  ;  and,  the  3'oung  ones  especialh', 
their  compliment  for  Lad)-  Fanny. 

Though  she  bowed  and  blushed,  as  a  young  lad3^  should, 
Lad3'  F ann3'  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something  else  ;  for  she 
kept  her  head  out  of  the  carriage,  looking  eagerly-  iimong  the 
horsemen,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  somebody.  Aha  !  my  Lad}' 
Fann3',  /  knew  what  it  meant  when  a  young,  pretty  lady  like 
you  was  absent,  and  on  the  look-out,  and  only  half  answered 
the  questions  i)ut  to  her.  Let  alone  Sam  Titmarsh  —  he  knows 
what  somebody  means  as  well  as  another,  I  warrant.  As  I  saw 
these  manceuvres  going  on,  I  could  not  help  just  giving  a  wink 
to  Lady  Jane,  as  much  as  to  say  I  knew  what  was  what.  "I 
guess  the  young  lady  is  looking  for  Somebod}  ,"  says  I.    It  was 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  21 


then  her  turn  to  look  queer,  I  assure  you,  and  she  blushed  as 
red  as  scarlet ;  but,  after  a  minute,  the  good-natured  little  thing 
looked  at  her  sister,  and  both  the  young  ladies  put  their  hand- 
kerchiefs up  to  their  faces,  and  began  laughing  —  laughing  as 
if  I  had  said  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world. 

//  est  charmant^  voire  monsieur^''  said  Lady  Jane  to  her 
grandmamma  ;  and  on  which  1  bowed  and  said,  Madame^  vous 
me  faites  beaucoup  d'honneur for  I  knew  the  French  language, 
and  was  pleased  to  find  that  these  good  ladies  had  taken  a 
liking  to  me.  ''I'm  a  poor  humble  lad,  ma'am,  not  used  to 
London  society,  and  do  rcall}^  feel  it  quite  kind  of  you  to  take 
me  by  the  hand  so,  and  give  me  a  drive  in  your  fine  carriage." 

At  this  minute  a  gentleman  on  a  black  horse,  with  a  pale 
face  and  a  tuft  to  his  chin,  came  riding  up  to  the  carriage  ;  and 
I  knew  by  a  little  start  that  Lady  Fanny  gave,  and  by  her 
instantly  looking  round  the  other  way,  that  Somebody  was  come 
at  last. 

''Lady  Drum,"  said  he,  "  3^our  most  devoted  servant!  I 
have  just  been  riding  with  a  gentleman  who  almost  shot  himself 
for  love  of  the  beautiful  Countess  of  Drum  in  the  year  —  never 
mind  the  year." 

' '  Was  it  Killblazes  ?  "  said  the  ladj' :  ' '  he's  a  dear  old  man, 
and  I'm  quite  ready  to  go  off  with  him  this  minute.  Or  was  it 
that  delight  of  an  old  bishop  ?  He's  got  a  lock  of  m}^  hair  now 
—  I  gave  it  him  when  he  was  papa's  cha[)lain  ;  and  let  me  tell 
you  it  would  be  a  hard  matter  to  find  another  now  in  the  same 
place." 

"  Law,  my  lad}^ !  "  saj^s  I,  "  you  don't  say  so?" 

"But  indeed  I  do,  m}^  good  sir,"  sa3^s  she;  "  for  between 
ourselves,  my  head's  as  bare  as  a  cannon-ball  —  ask  Fanny  if 
It  isn't.  Such  a  fright  as  the  poor  thing  got  when  she  was  a 
babby,  and  came  upon  me  suddenly  in  m\  dressing-room  with- 
out m}^  wig !  " 

"I  hope  Lad}^  Fann}"  has  recovered  from  the  shock,"  said 
"  Somebody,"  looking  first  at  her,  and  then  at  me  as  if  he  had 
a  mind  to  swallow  me.  And  would  you  believe  it?  all  that 
Lady  Fanu}^  could  say  was,  "Pretty  well,  I  thank  3'ou,  my 
lord  ; "  and  she  said  this  with  as  much  fluttering  and  blushing 
as  we  used  to  say  our  Virgil  at  school  —  w^hen  we  hadn't 
learned  it. 

My  lord  still  kept  on  looking  ver}'  fiercel}'  at  me,  and  muttered 
something  about  having  hoped  to  find  a  seat  in  Lady  Drum's 
carriage,  as  he  was  tired  of  riding  ;  on  which  Lad}'  Fanny  mut- 
tered something,  too,  about  "  a  friend  of  grandmamma's." 


22 


THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


"  You  should  say  a  friend  of  yours,  Fanny,"  says  Lady  Jane  : 
"  I  am  sure  we  should  never  have  come  to  the  Park  if  Fanny 
had  not  insisted  upon  bringing  Mr.  Titmarsh  hither.  Let  me 
introduce  the  Earl  of  TiptofT  to  Mr.  Titmarsh.''  But,  instead 
of  taking  off  his  hat,  as  I  did  mine,  his  lordship  growled  out 
that  he  hoped  for  another  opportunity,  and  galloped  off  again 
on  his  black  horse.  Why  the  deuce  /  should  have  offended  him 
I  never  could  understand. 

But  it  seemed  as  if  I  was  destined  to  offend  all  the  men  that 
day  ;  for  who  should  presently  come  up  but  the  Right  Hon. 
Edmund  Preston,  one  of  His  Majest3^'s  Secretaries  of  State  (as 
I  knew  very  well  by  the  almanac  in  our  office)  and  the  husband 
of  Lady  Jane. 

The  Right  Hon.  Edmund  was  riding  a  gray  cob,  and  was  a 
fat  pale-faced  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  never  went  into  the 
open  air.  Who  the  devil's  that?  "  said  he  to  his  wife,  looking 
surlily  both  at  me  and  her. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  friend  of  grandmamma's  and  Jane's,"  said  Lady 
Fanny  at  once,  looking  like  a  sly  rogue  as  she  was,  quite  archly 
at  her  sister  —  who  in  her  turn  appeared  quite  frightened,  and 
looked  imploringly  at  her  sister,  and  never  dared  to  breathe  a 
syllable.  ''Yes,  indeed,"  continued  Lady  Fanny,  '-Mr.  Tit- 
marsh  is  a  cousin  of  grandmamma's  by  the  mother's  side  :  by 
the  Hoggarty  side.  Didn't  you  know  the  Hoggarties  when  3^ou 
were  in  Ireland,  Edmund,  with  Lord  Bagwig?  Let  me  intro- 
duce 3'ou  to  grandmamma's  cousin,  Mr.  Titmarsh ;  Mr.  Tit- 
marsh,  my  brother,  Mr.  Edmund  Preston." 

There  was  Lady  Jane  all  the  time  treading  upon  her  sister's 
foot  as  hard  as  possible,  and  the  little  wicked  thing  would  take 
no  notice  ;  and  I,  who  had  never  heard  of  the  cousinship,  feel- 
ing as  confounded  as  could  be.  But  I  did  not  know  the  Coun- 
tess of  Drum  near  so  well  as  that  sly  minx  her  granddaughter 
did  ;  for  the  old  lady,  who  had  just  before  called  poor  Gus 
Hoskins  her  cousin,  had,  it  appeared,  the  mania  of  fancying  all 
the  world  related  to  her,  and  said, — 

"  Yes,  we're  cousins,  and  not  very  far  removed.  Mick  Hog- 
garty's  grandmother  was  Millicent  Brady,  and  she  and  my  aunt 
Towzer  were  relaterl,  as  all  the  world  knows;  for  Decimus 
Brady,  of  I>allybrady,  married  an  own  cousin  of  aunt  Towzer's 
mother.  Bell  Swift  —  that  was  no  relation  of  the  Dean's,  my 
love,  who  came  but  of  a  so-so  family —  and  isn't  that  clear?" 

''Oh,  pcjrfectly,  granduiamma,"  said  Lady  Jane,  laughing, 
while  the  right  honorable  gent  still  rode  by  us,  looking  sour  and 
surly. 


AND  THE  GKEAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  23 


"And  sure  you  knew  the  Hoggarties,  Edmund ?  — the  thir- 
teen red-haired* girls  — the  nine  graces,  and  four  over,  as  poor 
Clanboy  used  to  call  them.  Poor  Clan  !  —  a  cousin  of  yours 
and  mine,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  and  sadly  in  love  with  me  he  was  too. 
Not  remember  them  all  now,  Edmund?  —  not  remember?  —  not 
remember  Biddy  and  Minny,  and  Thedy  and  Widdy,  and  Mysie 
and  Grizzy,  and  Polly  and^DoUy  and  the  rest?" 

<-<-  D  the  Miss  Hoggarties,  ma'am,"  said  the  right  honora- 
ble gent ;  and  he  said  it  with  such  energy,  that  his  gray  horse 
gave  a  sudden  lash  out  that  wellnigh  sent  him  over  his  head. 
Lady  Jane  screamed ;  Lady  Fanny  laughed  ;  old  Lady  Drum 
looked  as  if  she  did  not  care  twopence,  and  said,  "  Serve  you 
right  for  swearing,  you  ojous  man  you  !  " 

Hadn't  you  better  come  into  the  carriage,  Edmund  —  Mr. 
Preston?"  cried  out  the  lady,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  Fm  sure  Fll  shp  out,  ma'am,"  says  I. 

''Pooh  —  pooh!  don't  stir,"  said  Lady  Drum:  "it's  my 
carriage  ;  and  if  Mr.  Preston  chooses  to  swear  at  a  lady  of 
my  years  in  that  ojous  vulgar  way —  in  that  ojous  vulgar  way, 
I  repeat  —  I  don't  see  why  my  friends  should  be  inconvenienced 
for  him.  Let  him  sit  on  the  dicky  if  he  likes,  or  come  in  and 
ride  bodkin."  It  was  quite  clear  that  my  Lady  Drum  hated  her 
grandson-in-law  heartil}^ ;  and  I've  remarked  somehow  in  fami- 
lies that  this  kind  of  hatred  is  by  no  means  uncommon. 

Mr.  Preston,  one  of  his  Majesty's  Secretaries  of  State,  was, 
to  tell  the  truth,  in  a  great  fright  upon  his  horse,  and  was  glad 
to  get  awa}'  from  the  kicking,  plunging  brute.  His  pale  face 
looked  still  paler  than  before,  and  his  hands  and  legs  trembled, 
as  he  dismounted  from  the  cob  and  gave  the  reins  to  his  ser- 
vant. I  disliked  the  looks  of  the  chap  —  of  the  master,  I 
mean  —  at  the  first  moment  he  came  up,  when  he  spoke  rudely 
to  that  nice  gentle  wife  of  his  ;  and  I  thought  he  was  a  cowardly 
fellow,  as  the  adventure  of  the  cob  showed  him  to  be.  Heaven 
bless  you  !  a  baby  could  have  ridden  it ;  and  here  was  the  man 
with  his  soul  in  his  mouth  at  the  very  first  kick. 

"Oh,  quick!  do  come  in,  Edmund,"  said  Lady  Fanu}', 
laughing  ;  and  the  carriage  steps  being  let  down,  and  giving  me 
a  great  scowl  as  he  came  in,  he  was  going  to  place  himself  in 
Lady  Fanny's  corner  (I  warrant  3'ou  I  wouldn't  budge  from 
mine),  when  the  little  rogue  cried  out,  "  Oh,  no^l  by  no  means, 
Mr.  Preston.  Shut  the  door,  Thomas.  And  oh  !  what  fun  it 
will  be  to  show  all  the  world  a  Secretary  of  State  riding  bod- 
kin ! " 

And  pretty  glum  the  Secretary  of  State  looked,  I  assure  you  ! 


24  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


"  Take  my  place,  Edmund,  and  don't  mind  Fannj-'s  folly," 
said  Ladj^  Jane,  timidly. 

Oh,  no  !  —  pray,  madam,  don't  stir  !  Fm  comfortable,  very 
comfortable  ;  and  so  I  hope  is  this  Mr.  —  this  gentleman." 

Perfectly,  I  assure  you,"  says  I.  "I  was  going  to  offer  to 
ride  your  horse  home  for  you,  as  you  seemed  to  be  rather 
frightened  at  it ;  but  the  fact  was,  I  was  so  comfortable  here 
that  reall}^  I  couldn't  move." 

Such  a  grin  as  old  Lady  Drum  gave  when  I  said  that !  —  how 
her  little  eyes  twinkled,  and  her  little  sly  mouth  puckered  up  ! 
I  couldn't  help  speaking,  for,  look  you,  m}^  blood  was  up. 

We  shall  always  be  happy  of  your  company,  cousin  Tit- 
marsh,"  sa^'s  she  ;  and  handed  me  a  gold  snutf-box,  out  of 
wdiich  I  took  a  pinch,  and  sneezed  with  the  air  of  a  lord. 

''As  3^ou  have  invited  this  gentleman  into  your  carriage, 
Lady  Jane  Preston,  hadn't  you  better  invite  him  home  to  din- 
ner?" says  Mr.  Preston,  quite  blue  with  rage. 

I  invited  him  into  tny  carr'age,"  says  the  old  lady  ;  "  and 
as  we  are  going  to  dine  at  your  house,  and  you  press  it,  I'm 
sure  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  him  there." 
I'm  very  sorry  I'm  engaged,"  said  1. 

''  Oh,  indeed,  what  a  pity  !  "  says  Right  Honorable  Ned,  still 
glowering  at  his  wife.  ''  What  a  pit}^  that  this  gentleman  — 
1  forget  his  name  —  that  your  friend,  Lad}^  Jane,  is  engaged! 
I  am  sure  3^ou  would  have  had  such  gratification  in  meeting 
your  relation  in  Whitehall." 

Lad}'  Drum  was  over-fond  of  finding  out  relations  to  be  sure  ; 
but  this  speech  of  Right  Honorable  Ned's  was  rather  too  much. 
"  Now,  Sam,"  says  I,  ''  be  a  man  and  show  your  spirit !  "  So 
I  spoke  up  at  once,  and  said,  ''  Why,  ladies,  as  the  right  hon- 
orable gent  is  so  very  pressing,  I'll  give  up  my  engagement,  and 
shall  have  sincere  pleasure  in  cutting  mutton  with  him.  W^hat's 
your  hour,  sir?  " 

He  didn't  condescend  to  answer,  and  for  me  I  did  not  care  ; 
for,  you  see,  I  did  not  intend  to  dine  with  the  man,  but  only  to 
give  him  a  lesson  of  manners.  For,  tliough  I  am  but  a  poor 
fellow,  and  hear  people  cry  out  how  vulgar  it  is  to  eat  pease 
with  a  knife,  or  ask  three  times  for  cheese,  and  suchlike  points 
of  ceremony,  there's  something,  I  think,  much  more  vulgar  than 
all  this,  and  tjiat  is,  insolence  to  one's  inferiors.  I  hate  the 
chap  that  uses  it,  as  I  scorn  him  of  hinnble  rank  that  affects 
to  be  of  the  fashion  ;  and  so  I  determined  to  let  Mr.  Preston 
know  a  piece  of  my  mind. 

When  the  carriage  drove  up  to  his  house,  I  handed  out  the 


AND  THE  GllEAT  llOGGARTr  DIAMOND. 


25 


ladies  as  politely  as  possible,  and  walked  into  the  hall,  and  then 
taking  hold  of  Mr.  Preston's  button  at  the  door,  I  said,  before 
the  ladies  and  the  two  big  servants  —  upon  m}^  word,  1  did  — 
Sir,"  says  I,  "this  kind  old  lady  asked  me  into  her  earringe, 
and  I  rode  in  it  to  please  her,  not  myself.  When  you  eame  up 
and  asked  who  the  devil  I  was,  I  thought  you  might  have  put 
the  question  in  a  more  polite  manner ;  but  it  wasn't  my  busi- 
ness to  speak.  When,  by  way  of  a  joke,  you  invited  me  to 
dinner,  I  thought  1  would  answer  in  a  joke  too,  and  here  I  am. 
But  don't  be  frightened  ;  I'm  not  a-going  to  dine  with  you  : 
only  if  you  play  the  same  joke  upon  other  parties  —  on  some  of 
the  ehaps  in  our  office,  for  example  —  1  recommend  you  to  have 
a  care,  or  they  will  take  you  at  your  word.^' 

Is  that  all,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Preston,  still  in  a  rage  :  ''if  you 
have  done,  will  you  leave  this  house,  or  shall  my  servants  turn 
you  out?  Turn  out  this  fellow!  do  you  hear  me?"  and  he 
broke  awa}'  from  me,  and  flung  into  his  study  in  a  rage. 

He's  an  ojous,  horrid  monsther  of  a  man,  that  husband  of 
3'ours  !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  seizing  hold  of  her  elder  grand- 
daughter's arm,  "  and  I  hate  him  ;  and  so  come  away,  for  the 
dinner'll  be  getting  cold  :  "  and  she  was  for  hurrying  away  Lady 
Jane  without  more  ado.  But  that  kind  lady,  coming  forward, 
looking  very  pale  and  trembling,  said,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  do 
hope  you'll  not  be  angry  —  that  is,  that  you'll  forget  what  has 
happened,  for,  believe  me,  it  has  given  me  ver}^  great  —  " 

Very  great  what,  I  never  could  say,  for  here  the  poor  thing's 
e3'es  filled  with  tears  ;  and  Ladj'  Drum  crying  out  ''  Tut,  tut ! 
none  of  this  nonsense,"  pulled  her  away  b}'  the  sleeve,  and 
went  up  stairs.  But  little  Lady  Fanny  walked  boldly  up  to  me, 
and  held  me  out  her  Uttle  hand,  and  gave  mine  such  a  squeeze 
and  said,  "  Good-by,  m}'  dear  Mr.  Titmarsh,"  so  very  kindly, 
that  I'm  blest  if  I  did  not  blush  up  to  the  ears,  and  all  the 
blood  in  my  bod}^  began  to  tingle. 

So,  when  she  was  gone,  I  clapped  m}-  hat  on  my  head,  and 
walked  out  of  the  hall  door,  feeling  as  proud  as  a  peacock  and 
as  brave  as  a  lion  ;  and  all  I  wished  for  was  that  one  of  those 
saucy,  grinning  footmen  should  sa}^  or  do  something  to  me  that 
was  the  least  uncivil,  so  that  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of 
knocking  him  down  with  m}^  best  compliments  to  his  master. 
But  neither  of  them  did  me  any  such  favor !  and  I  went  away 
and  dined  at  home  ofl*  boiled  mutton  and  turnips  with  Gus  Hos- 
kins  quite  peacefulh'. 

I  did  not  think  it  was  proper  to  tell  Gus  (who,  between  our- 
selves, is  rather  curious,  and  inclined  to  tittle-tattle),  all  the 


26  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


particulars  of  the  familj^  quarrel  of  which  I  had  been  the  cause 
and  witness,  and  so  just  said  that  the  old  lady  —  The}^  were 
the  Drum  arms/'  sa3'S  Gus  ;  for  I  went  and  looked  them  out 
that  minute  in  the  '  Peerage — that  the  old  lady  turned  out 
to  be  a  cousin  of  mine,  and  that  she  had  taken  me  to  drive  in 
the  Park.  Next  day  we  w^ent  to  the  office  as  usual,  when  you 
may  be  sure  that  Hoskins  told  every thing'of  what  had  happened, 
and  a  great  deal  more  ;  and  somehow,  though  1  did  not  pretend 
to  care  sixpence  about  the  matter,  I  must  confess  that  I  was 
rather  pleased  that  the  gents  in  our  office  should  hear  of  a  part 
of  m}'  adventure. 

But  fancy  my  surprise,  on  coming  home  in  the  evening,  to 
find  Mrs.  Stokes  the  landiadj^.  Miss  Selina  Stokes  her  daugh- 
ter, and  Master  Bob  Stokes  her  son  (an  idle  3^oung  vagabond 
that  was  alw^ays  playing  marbles  on  St.  Bride's  steps  and  in 
Salisbmy  Square),  —  when  I  found  them  all  bustling  and  tum- 
bling up  the  steps  before  me  to  our  rooms  on  the  second  floor, 
and  there,  on  the  table,  between  our  two  flutes  on  one  side,  my 
album,  Gus's  ''Don  Juan"  and  ''Peerage"  on  the  other,  I 
saw  as  follows  :  — 

1.  A  basket  of  great  red  peaches,  looking  like  the  cheeks  of 
my  dear  Mary  Smith. 

2.  A  ditto  of  large,  fat,  luscious,  heavy-looking  grapes. 

3.  An  enormous  piece  of  raw  mutton,  as  I  thought  it  was  ; 
but  Mrs.  Stokes  said  it  was  the  primest  haunch  of  venison  that 
ever  she  saw. 

And  three  cards  ;  viz. 

DOWAGER  COUNTESS  OF  DRUM. 
LADY  FANNY  RAKES. 

MR.  PRESTON. 
LADY  JANE  PRESTON. 

EARL  OF  TIPTOFF. 

"  Sich  a  carriage  ! "  says  Mrs.  Stokes  (for  that  was  the  way 
the  poor  thing  spoke).  "  Sich  a  carriage  —  all  over  coronites  ! 
sich  liveries  —  two  great  footmen,  with  red  w^iiskers  and  3'el- 
low-plush  small-clothes  ;  and  inside,  a  very  old  lady  in  a  white 
poke  bonnet,  and  a  .young  one  with  a  great  leghorn  hat  and 
l)lne  ribbons,  and  a  great  tall  pale  gentleman  with  a  tuft  on 
his  chin. 

"'Pray,  madam,  does  Mr.  Titmarsh  live  here?'  says  the 
young  lady,  with  her  clear  voice. 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  27 


"  '  Yes,  my  lady,'  says  I ;  '  but  he's  at  the  office  —  the  West 
Diddlesex  Fh-e  and  Life  Office,  Cornhill.' 

'  Charles,  get  out  the  things,'  says  the  gentleman,  quite 
solemn. 

'''Yes,  my  lord,'  says  Charles;  and  brings  me  out  the 
haunch  in  a  newspaper,  and  on  the  chany  dish  as  you  see  it, 
and  the  two  baskets  of  fruit  besides. 

"  '  Have  the  kindness,  madam,'  says  my  lord,  '  to  take  these 
things  to  Mr.  Titmarsh's  rooms,  with  our,  with  Lady  Jane 
Preston's  compliments,  and  request  his  acceptance  of  tliem  ; ' 
and  then  he  pulled  out  the  cards  on  your  table,  and  this  letter, 
sealed  with  his  lordship's  own  crown." 

And  herewith  Mrs.  Stokes  gave  me  a  letter,  which  my  wife 
keeps  to  this  day,  by  the  way,  and  which  runs  thus  :  — 

"  The  Earl  of  Tiptoff  has  been  commissioned  by  Lady  Jane  Preston  to 
express  her  sincere  regret  and  disappointment  that  she  was  not  able  yes- 
terday to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Titmarsh's  company.  Lady  Jane  is 
about  to  leave  town  immediately :  she  will  therefore  be  unable  to  receive 
her  friends  in  Whitehall  Place  this  season.  But  Lord  Tiptoff  trusts  that 
Mr.  Titmarsh  will  have  the  kindness  to  accept  some  of  the  produce  of  her 
ladyship's  garden  and  park ;  with  which,  perhaps,  he  will  entertain  some 
6t  those  friends  in  whose  favor  he  knows  so  well  how  to  speak." 

Along  with  this  was  a  little  note,  containing  the  words 
"Lady  Drum  at  home.  Friday  evening,  June  17."  And  all 
this  came  to  me  because  my  aunt  Hoggarty  had  given  me  a 
diamond-pin ! 

I  did  not  send  back  the  venison  :  as  why  should  I  ?  Gus 
was  for  sending  it  at  once  to  Brough,  our  director ;  and  the 
grapes  and  peaches  to  my  aunt  in  Somersetshire. 

"But  no,"  sa3'S  I;  "  w^e'U  ask  Bob  Swinney  and  half  a 
dozen  more  of  our  gents  ;  and  we'll  have  a  merr}^  night  of  it 
on  Saturday."  And  a  merry  night  we  had  too  ;  and  as  we  had 
no  wane  in  the  cupboard,  we  had  plent}^  of  ale,  and  gin-punch 
afterwards.  And  Gus  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  and  I  at  the 
head ;  and  we  sang  songs,  both  comic  and  sentimentaL  and 
drank  toasts  ;  and  I  made  a  speech  that  there  is  no  possibility 
of  mentioning  here,  because,  entre  nous^  I  had  quite  forgotten 
in  the  morning  everything  that  had  taken  place  after  a  certain 
period  on  the  night  before. 


28  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW  THE  HAPPY  DIAMOND- WEARER  DINES  AT  PENTONYILLE. 

I  DID  not  go  to  the  office  till  half  an  hour  after  opening  time 
on  Monday.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  I  was  not  sorry  to  let 
Hoskins  have  the  start  of  me,  and  tell  the  chaps  what  had 
taken  place,  — for  we  all  have  our  little  vanities,  and  I  liked  to 
be  thought  well  of  b}^  my  companions. 

When  I  came  in,  I  saw  my  business  had  been  done,  by  the 
wa}^  in  which  the  chaps  looked  at  me  ;  especially  Abednego, 
who  offered  me  a  pinch  out  of  his  gold  snuff-box  the  very  first 
thing.  Roundhand  shook  me,  too,  warml}^  by  the  hand,  when 
he  came  round  to  look  over  m}^  day-book,  said  I  wrote  a  capital 
hand  (and  indeed  I  believe  I  do,  without  any  sort  of  flattery) , 
and  invited  me  for  dinner  next  Sunday,  in  Myddelton  Square. 
"You  won't  have,"  said  he,  ''quite  such  a  grand  turn-out  as 
with  your  friends  at  the  West  End'^  —  he  said  this  with  a  par- 
ticular accent — ''but  Amelia  and  I  are  always  happy  to  see 
a  friend  in  our  plain  wa}^, — pale  sheny,  old  port,  and  cut  and 
come  again.  He}"?" 

I  said  I  would  come,  and  bring  Hoskins  too. 

He  answered  that  I  was  ver}'  polite,  and  that  he  should  be 
ver}"  happy  to  see  Hoskins  ;  and  we  went  accordingly  at  the 
appointed  day  and  hour ;  but  though  Gus  was  eleventh  clerk 
and  I  twelfth,  I  remarked  that  at  dinner  I  was  helped  first  and 
best.  I  had  twice  as  many  forced-meat  balls  as  Hoskins  in 
my  mock-turtle,  and  pretty  nearly  all  the  oysters  out  of  the 
sauce-boat.  Once,  Roundhand  was  going  to  help  Gus  before 
me  ;  when  his  wife,  who  was  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
looking  very  big  and  fierce  in  red  crape  and  a  turban,  shouted 
out.  "Antony!"  and  poor  R.  dropped  the  plate,  and  blushed 
as  red  as  anything.  How  Mrs.  R.  did  talk  to  me  about  the 
West  End  to  be  sure !  She  had  a  "  Peerage,"  as  you  may  be 
certain,  and  knew  everything  about  the  Drum  family  in  a  man- 
ner that  quite  astonished  me.  She  asked  me  how  much  Lord 
Drum  had  a  year ;  whether  I  thought  he  had  twenty,  thirty, 
forty,  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  a  year ;  wiiether  I  was 
invited  to  Drum  (Castle  ;  what  the  .young  ladies  wore,  and  if 
they  had  those  odious  (ji(jot  sleeves  which  were  just  coming  in 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  29 


then ;  and  here  Mrs.  R.  looked  at  a  pair  of  large  mottled  arms 
that  she  was  ver}^  proud  of. 

"  I  sa}',  Sam  m}^  boy !  "  cried,  in  the  midst  of  our  talk,  Mr. 
Roundhand,  who  had  been  passing  the  port-wine  round  pretty 
freel}^  "I  hope  3'ou  looked  to  the  main  chance,  and  put  in  a 
few  shares  of  the  West  Diddlesex,  —  hey  ?  " 

"Mr.  Roundhand,  have  3'ou  put  up  the  decanters  down 
stairs  ? "  cries  the  lady,  quite  angr}^,  and  wishing  to  stop  the 
conversation. 

No,  Milly,  I've  emptied  'em,"  says  R. 

"Don't  Milly  me,  sir!  and  have  the  goodness  to  go  down 
and  tell  Lancy  my  maid"  (a  look  at  me)  "to  make  the  tea  in 
the  stud}^  We  have  a  gentleman  here  who  is  not  used  to  Pen- 
ton  ville  wa3^s"  (another  look);  "but  he  won't  mind  the  ways 
of  friends.''  And  here  Mrs.  Roundhand  heaved  her  very  large 
chest,  and  gave  me  a  third  look  that  was  so  severe,  that  I 
declare  to  goodness  it  made  me  look  quite  foolish.  As  to  Gus, 
she  never  so  much  as  spoke  to  him  all  the  evening ;  but  he 
consoled  himself  with  a  great  lot  of  muffins,  and  sat  most  of 
the  evening  (it  was  a  cruel  hot  summer)  whistling  and  talking 
with  Roundhand  on  the  veranda.  I  think  I  should  like  to 
have  been  with  them,  —  for  it  was  verj'  close  in  the  room  with 
that  great  big  Mrs.  Roundhand  squeezing  close  up  to  one  on 
the  sofa. 

"  Do  you  recollect  what  a  jolly  night  we  had  here  last  sum- 
mer? "  I  heard  Hoskins  sa}',  who  was  leaning  over  the  balcony, 
and  ogling  the  girls  coming  home  from  church.  "  You  and  me 
with  our  coats  off,  plenty  of  cold  rum-and-water,  Mrs.  Round- 
hand  at  Margate,  and  a  whole  box  of  Manillas?" 

"Hush!"  said  Roundhand,  quite  eagerly;  "Milly  will 
hear." 

But  Milly  didn't  hear :  for  she  was  occupied  in  telHng  me 
an  immense  long  story  about  her  waltzing  with  the  Count  de 
Schloppenzollern  at  the  City  ball  to  the  Allied  Sovereigns  ;  and 
how  the  count  had  great  large  white  moustaches  ;  and  how  odd 
she  thought  it  to  go  whirling  round  the  room  with  a  great  man's 
arm  round  your  waist.  "  Mr.  Roundhand  has  never  allowed  it 
since  our  marriage  —  never;  but  in  the  year  'fourteen  it  was 
considered  a  proper  compliment,  you  know,  to  pay  the  sover- 
eigns. So  twenty-nine  young  ladies,  of  the  best  families  in  the 
city  of  London,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Titmarsh  —  there  was  the 
Lord  Ma3'or's  own  daughters  ;  Alderman  Dobbins's  gals  ;  Sir 
Charles  Hopper's  three,  who  have  the  great  house  m  Baker 
Street ;  and  3'our  humble  servant,  who  was  rather  slimmer  in 


30  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


those  da3's  —  twent} -nine  of  us  had  a  dancing-master  on  pur- 
pose, and  practised  waltzing  in  a  room  over  the  Egj^ptian  Hall 
at  the  Mansion  House.  He  was  a  splendid  man,  that  Count 
Schloppenzollern  ! " 

^'  I  am  sure,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "he  had  a  splendid  partner !  " 
and  blushed  up  to  my  exes  when  I  said  it. 

"  Get  away,  you  naughty  creature  !  "  says  Mrs.  Roundhand, 
giving  me  a  great  slap:  ''you're  all  the  same,  you  men  in 
the  West  End  —  all  deceivers.  The  count  was  just  like  you. 
Heigho  !  Before  you  marry,  it's  all  honey  and  comphments  ; 
when  you  win  ug,  it's  all  coldness  and  indifference.  Look  at 
Roundhand,  the  great  baby,  trying  to  beat  down  a  butterfly 
with  his  yellow  bandanna  !  Can  a  man  hke  that  comprehend 
me?  can  he  fill  the  void  in  my  heart?"  (She  pronounced  it 
without  the  h ;  but  that  there  should  be  no  mistake,  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  place  meant.)  ''  Ah,  no  !  Will  you  be  so  neg- 
lectful when  you  many,  Mr.  Titmarsh  ?  " 

As  she  spoke,  the  bells  were  just  tolling  the  people  out  of 
church,  and  I  fell  a-thinking  of  my  dear,  dear  Mar}^  Smith  in 
the  country,  walking  home  to  her  grandmother's,  in  her  modest 
gray  cloak,  as  the  bells  were  chiming  and  the  air  full  of  the 
sweet  smell  of  the  ha}^,  and  the  river  shining  in  the  sun,  all 
crimson,  purple,  gold,  and  silver.  There  was  m}^  dear  Mary 
a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  off,  in  Somersetshire,  walking 
home  from  church  along  with  Mr.  Snorter's  family,  with  which 
she  came  and  went ;  and  I  was  listening  to  the  talk  of  this 
great  leering,  vulgar  woman. 

I  could  not  help  feeling  for  a  certain  half  of  a  sixpence  that 
you  have  heard  me  speak  of ;  and  putting  my  hand  mechani- 
cally upon  my  chest,  I  tore  my  fingers  with  the  point  of  m}^ 
new  DIAMOND-PIN.  Mr.  Polonius  had  sent  it  home  the  night 
before,  and  I  sported  it  for  the  first  time  at  Roundhand's  to 
dinner. 

''It's  a  beautiful  diamond,"  said  Mrs.  Roundhand.  "I 
have  been  looking  at  it  all  dinner-time.  How  rich  you  must 
be  to  wear  such  splendid  things  !  and  how  can  you  remain  in 
a  vulgar  office  in  the  cit\s  — you  who  have  such  great  acquaint- 
ances at  the  West  End?" 

The  woman  had  somehow  put  me  in  such  a  passion  that  I 
bounced  off  the  sofa,  and  made  for  the  balcon}^  without  answer- 
ing a  word,  —  a}',  and  half  broke  my  head  against  the  sash, 
too,  as  I  went  out  to  the  gents  in  the  open  air.  "  Gus,"  says 
I,  "  T  feel  v(»ry  unwell :  I  wish  you'd  come  home  with  me." 
And  Gus  did  not  desire  anything  better;  for  he  had  ogled  the 


Mr.  Roundhand  looks  out  of  Window. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARI  Y  DIAMOND.  31 


last  girl  out  of  the  last  church,  and  the  night  was  beginning 
to  fall. 

"What  !  already?"  said  Mrs.  Roundhand  ;  "there  is  a 
lobster  coming  up,  —  a  trifling  refreshment ;  not  what  he's  ac- 
customed to,  but  —  " 

I  am  sorry  to  say  I  nearly  said,  "  D          the  lobster !  "  as 

Roundhand  went  and  whispered  to  her  that  I  was  ill. 

"  A}^"  said  Gus,  looking  very  knowing.  "  Recollect,  Mrs. 
R.,  that  he  was  at  the  West  End  on  Thursday,  asked  to  dine, 
ma'am,  with  the  tip-top  nobs.  Chaps  don't  dine  at  the  West 
End  for  nothing,  do  they,  R.  ?  If  you  play  at  bowls ^  yow 
know  —  " 

"  You  must  look  out  for  rubbers^'"  said  Roundhand,  as  quick 
as  thought. 

"  Not  in  m}^  house  of  a  Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  R.,  looking  very 
fierce  and  angry.  "  Not  a  card  shall  be  touched  here.  Are  we 
in  a  Protestant  land,  sir?  in  a  Christian  country?" 

"  My  dear,  3'ou  don't  understand.  We  were  not  talking  of 
rubbers  of  whist." 

"  There  shall  be  no  game  at  all  in  the  house  of  a  Sabbath 
eve,"  said  Mrs.  Roundhand  ;  and  out  she  flounced  from  the 
room,  without  ever  so  much  as  wisliing  us  good-night. 

"  Do  stay,"  said  the  husband,  looking  very  much  frightened, 
—  "do  stay.  She  won't  come  back  while  you're  here  ;  and  I 
do  wish  you'd  stay  so." 

But  we  wouldn't :  and  when  we  reached  Sahsbury  Square,  I 
gave  Gus  a  lecture  about  spending  his  Sunda3\s  idly  ;  and  read 
out  one  of  Blair's  sermons  before  we  went  to  bed.  As  I  turned 
over  in  bed,  I  could  not  help  thinking  about  the  luck  the  pin 
had  brought  me ;  and  it  was  not  over  yet,  as  3'ou  will  see  in 
the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  THE   DIAMOND   INTRODUCES   HIM  TO    A   STILL   MORE  FASH- 
IONABLE PLACE. 

To  tell  the  truth,  though,  about  the  pin,  although  I  men- 
tioned it  almost  the  last  thing  in  the  previous  chapter,  I  assure 
you  it  was  l\y  no  means  tlie  last  thing  in  m}^  thoughts.  It  had 
come  home  from  Mr.  Polonius's,  as  I  said,  on  Saturday  night ; 


32 


THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


and  Gus  and  I  happened  to  be  out  enjoj  ing  ourselves,  half-price, 
at  Sadler's  Wells  ;  and  perhaps  we  took  a  little  refreshment  on 
our  wa}'  back  :  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  story. 

On  the  table,  however,  was  the  little  box  from  the  jeweller's  ; 
and  when  I  took  it  out,  —  my,  how  the  diamond  did  twinkle  and 
glitter  b}'  the  light  of  our  one  candle  ! 

"I'm  sure  it  would  light  up  the  room  of  itself,"  says  Gus. 
"  I've  read  they  do  in  — in  history." 

It  w^as  in  the  history  of  Cogia  Hassan  Alhabbal,  in  the 
"  Arabian  Nights,"  as  I  knew  very  well.  But  we  put  the  can- 
dle out,  nevertheless,  to  try. 

''Well,  I  declare  to  goodness  it  does  illuminate  the  old 
place  !  "  says  Gus  ;  but  the  fact  was,  that  there  was  a  gas-lamp 
opposite  our  window,  and  I  believe  that  was  the  reason  why  we 
could  see  pretty  well.  At  least  in  my  bedroom,  to  which  I  was 
obliged  to  go  without  a  candle,  and  of  which  the  window  looked 
out  on  a  dead  wall,  I  could  not  see  a  wink,  in  spite  of  the 
Hoggart}'  diamond,  and  was  obliged  to  grope  about  in  the  dark 
for  a  pincushion  which  Somebody  gave  me  (I  don't  mind  own- 
ing it  was  Mary  Smith) ,  and  in  which  I  stuck  it  for  the  night. 
But,  somehow,  I  did  not  sleep  much  for  thinking  of  it,  and  woke 
very  earlj'  in  the  morning  ;  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  stuck 
it  in  my  night-gown,  like  a  fool,  and  admired  myself  very  much 
in  the  glass. 

Gus  admired  it  as  much  as  I  did ;  for  since  my  return,  and 
especially  since  my  venison  dinner  and  drive  with  Lady  Drum, 
he  thought  I  was  the  finest  fellow  in  the  world,  and  boasted 
about  his  ''  West  End  friend"  ever3nvhere. 

As  we  were  going  to  dine  at  Roundhand's,  and  I  had  no 
black  satin  stock  to  set  it  off,  I  was  obliged  to  place  it  in  the 
frill  of  m}^  best  shirt,  which  tore  the  muslin  sadly,  by  the  wa}'. 
However,  the  diamond  had  its  effect  on  my  entertainers,  as  w^e 
have  seen  ;  rather  too  much  perhaps  on  one  of  them  ;  and  next 
day  I  wore  it  down  at  the  office,  as  Gus  would  make  me  do ; 
though  it  did  not  look  near  so  well  in  the  second  day's  shirt  as 
on  the  first  day,  when  the  linen  was  quite  clear  and  bright  with 
Somersetshire  washing. 

The  chaps  at  the  West  Diddlesex  all  admired  it  hugely, 
except  that  snarling  Scotchman  M'Whirter,  fourth  clerk,  — out 
of  envy  because  I  did  not  think  much  of  a  great  yellow  stone, 
named  a  carum-gorum,  or  some  such  thing,  which  he  had  in  a 
snuff-mull,  as  he  called  it,  —  all  except  M^Wliirter,  I  say,  were 
delighted  with  it;  and  Abednego  himself,  who  ought  to  know, 
as  his  ialiicr  was  in  the  line,  told  me  tiie  jewel  was  worth  at 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  33 


least  ten  poundsh,  and  that  his  governor  would  give  me  as 
much  for  it. 

"  That's  a  proof,"  says  Roundhand,  "  that  Tit's  diamond  is 
worth  at  least  thirt}'."   And  we  all  laughed,  and  agreed  it  was. 

Now  I  must  confess  that  all  these  praises,  and  the  respect 
that  was  paid  me,  turned  my  head  a  little  ;  and  as  all  the  chaps 
said  I  must  have  a  black  satin  stock  to  set  the  stone  off,  I  was 
fool  enough  to  bu}^  a  stock  that  cost  me  five-and-twenty  shil- 
lings, at  Ludlam's  in  Piccadilly  :  for  Gus  said  I  must  go  to  the 
best  place,  to  be  sure,  and  have  none  of  our  cheap  and  common 
East  End  stuff.  I  might  have  had  one  for  sixteen  and  six  in 
Cheapside,  every  whit  as  good  ;  but  when  a  young  lad  becomes 
vain,  and  wants  to  be  fashionable,  3^ou  see  he  can't  help  being 
extravagant. 

Our  director,  Mr.  Brough,  did  not  fail  to  hear  of  the  haunch 
of  venison  business,  and  my  relationship  with  Lady  Drum  and 
the  Right  Hon.  Edmund  Preston  :  only  Abednego,  who  told 
him,  said  I  was  her  ladyship's  first  cousin  ;  and  this  made 
Brough  think  more  of  me,  and  no  worse  than  before. 

Mr.  B.  was,  as  everybody  knows.  Member  of  Parliament  for 
Rottenburg ;  and  being  considered  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
the  city  of  London,  used  to  receive  all  the  great  people  of  the 
land  at  his  villa  at  Fulham  ;  and  we  often  read  in  the  papers  of 
the  rare  doings  going  on  there. 

Well,  the  pin  certainly  worked  wonders  :  for  not  content 
merely  with  making  me  a  present  of  a  ride  in  a  countess's  car- 
riage, of  a  haunch  of  venison  and  two  baskets  of  fruit,  and  the 
dinner  at  Roundhand's  above  described,  my  diamond  had  other 
honors  in  store  for  me,  and  procured  me  the  honor  of  an  invi- 
tation to  the  house  of  our  director,  Mr.  Brough. 

Once  a  year,  in  June,  that  honorable  gent  gave  a  grand  ball 
at  his  house  at  Fulham  ;  and  hy  the  accounts  of  the  entertain- 
ment brought  back  by  one  or  two  of  our  chaps  who  had  been 
invited,  it  was  one  of  the  most  magnificent  things  to  be  seen 
about  London.  You  saw  Members  of  Parliament  there  as  thick 
as  peas  in  July,  lords  and  ladies  without  end.  There  was  every- 
thing and  ever3^body  of  the  tiptop  sort ;  and  I  have  heard  that 
Mr.  Gunter,  of  Berkele}^  Square,  supplied  the  ices,  supper,  and 
footmen,  —  though  of  the  latter  Brough  kept  a  plenty,  but  not 
enough  to  serve  the  host  of  people  who  came  to  him.  The 
party,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  Mrs.  Brough's  party,  not 
the  gentleman's, — he  being  in  the  Dissenting  way,  would 
scarcely  sanction  any  entertainments  of  the  kind  :  but  he  told 
his  City  friends  that  his  lady  governed  him  in  everything  ;  and 


34  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


it  was  generally  observed  that  most  of  them  would  allow  their 
daughters  to  go  to  the  ball  if  asked,  on  account  of  the  immense 
number  of  the  nobihty  which  our  director  assembled  together : 
Mrs.  Roundhand,  I  know,  for  one,  would  have  given  one  of  her 
ears  to  go  ;  but,  as  I  have  said  before,  nothing  would  induce 
Brough  to  ask  her. 

Roundhand  himself,  and  Gutch,  nineteenth  clerk,  son  of  the 
brother  of  an  East  Indian  director,  were  the  only  two  of  our 
gents  invited,  as  we  knew  ver}-  well :  for  they  had  received  their 
invitations  man}^  weeks  before,  and  bragged  about  them  not  a 
little.  But  two  days  before  the  ball,  and  after  m}'  diamond-pin 
had  had  its  due  effect  upon  the  gents  at  the  office,  Abednego, 
who  had  been  in  the  director's  room,  came  to  m}'  desk  with  a 
great  smirk,  and  said,  Tit,  Mr.  B.  says  that  he  expects  you 
will  come  down  with  Roundhand  to  the  ball  on  Thursday."  I 
thought  Moses  was  joking,  —  at  an}'  rate,  that  Mr.  B.'s  message 
was  a  queer  one  ;  for  people  don't  usualh^  send  invitations  in 
that  abrupt,  peremptory  sort  of  wa}^ ;  but,  sure  enough,  he 
presently  came  down  himself  and  confirmed  it,  sa3ing,  as  he 
was  going  out  of  the  office,  ''Mr.  Titmarsh,  3'ou  will  come 
down  on  Thursday  to  Mrs.  Brough's  party,  where  3'ou  will  see 
some  relations  of  j^ours." 

''West  End  again  !  "  sa3's  that  Gus  Hoskins  ;  and  accord- 
ingl3^  down  I  went,  taking  a  place  in  a  cab  which  Roundhand 
hired  for  himself,  Gutch,  and  me,  and  for  which  he  ver3^  gener- 
ously paid  eight  shillings. 

There  is  no  use  to  describe  the  grand  gala,  nor  the  number  of 
lamps  in  the  lodge  and  in  the  garden,  nor  the  crowd  of  carriages 
that  came  in  at  the  gates,  nor  the  troops  of  curious  people  out- 
side ;  nor  the  ices,  fiddlers,  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  cold  sup- 
per within.  The  whole  description  was  beautifully  given  in  a 
fashionable  paper,  by  a  reporter  vvho  observed  the  same  from  the 
Yellow  Lion''  over  the  way,  and  told  it  in  his  journal  in  the 
most  accurate  manner ;  getting  an  account  of  the  dresses  of 
the  great  people  from  their  footmen  and  coachmen,  when  they 
came  to  the  ale-house  for  their  porter.  As  for  the  names  of 
the  guests,  they,  you  may  be  sure,  found  their  way  to  the  same 
newspaper  :  and  a  great  laugh  was  had  at  m3^  expense,  because 
among  the  titles  of  the  great  people  mentioned  my  name  ap- 
peared in  the  list  of  the  '' Ilonorables."  Next  day,  Brough 
advertised  ''  a  hundred  and  fifty  guineas  reward  lor  an  emerald 
necklace  lost  at  the  party  of  John  l^rough,  Es(|.,  at  Fulham  ;  " 
thougli  some  of  our  i,)e()ple  said  that  no  such  thing  was  lost  at 
all,  and  tiiat  Brough  only  wanted  to  advertise  the  magnificence 


Mr.  Brough^s  Ball. 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  n.LINC'«; 


AND  THE  GKEAT  TTOGGAKTY  DIAMOND.  35 


of  his  society  ;  but  this  doubt  was  raised  by  persons  not  in- 
vited, and  envious  no  doubt. 

Well,  I  wore  m}'  diamond,  as  you  ma}^  imagine,  and  rigged 
myself  in  my  best  clothes,  viz.  my  blue  coat  and  ])rass  buttons 
before  mentioned,  nankeen  trousers  and  silk  stockings,  a  white 
waistcoat,  and  a  pair  of  white  gloves  bought  for  the  occasion. 
But  mv  coat  was  of  country  make,  very  liigh  in  the  waist  and 
short  in  the  sleeves,  and  I  suppose  must  have  looked  rather 
odd  to  some,  of  the  great  people  assembled,  for  the}^  stared  at 
me  a  great  deal,  and  a  w^hole  crowd  formed  to  see  me  dance  — 
which  I  did  to  the  best  of  my  pown^r,  performing  all  the  steps 
accurately  and  with  great  ngility,  as  1  had  been  taught  by  our 
dancing-master  in  the  country. 

And  with  whom  do  you  think  I  had  the  honor  to  dance? 
With  no  less  a  person  than  Lad}^  Jane  Preston  ;  who,  it  ap- 
pears, had  not  gone  out  of  town,  and  who  shook  me  most 
kindh'  by  the  hand  when  she  saw  me,  and  asked  me  to  dance 
with  "her.  We  had  m}^  Lord  Tiptoff  and  Lady  Fann}^  Rakes 
for  our  vis-a-vis. 

You  should  have  seen  how  the  people  crowded  to  look  at  us, 
and  admired  m}^  dancing  too,  for  1  cut  the  very  best  of  capers, 
quite  different  to  the  rest  of  the  gents  (m^^  lord  among  the 
number),  who  walked  through  the  quadrille  as  if  they  thought 
it  a  trouble,  and  stared  at  my  activit}'  w^ith  all  their  might. 
But  when  I  have  a  dance  I  like  to  enjoy  myself :  and  Mary 
Smith  often  said  I  was  the  very  best  partner  at  our  assemblies. 
While  we  were  dancing,  I  told  Lad}^  Jane  liow  Roundhand, 
Gutch,  and  I,  had  come  down  three  in  a  cab,  besides  the 
driver;  and  m}^  account  of  our  adventures  made  her  lady- 
ship laugh,  I  warrant  you.  Luck}^  it  was  for  me  that  I  didn't 
go  back  in  the  same  vehicle  ;  for  the  driver  went  and  intoxi- 
cated himself  at  the  ''Yellow  Lion,"  threw  out  Gutch  and  our 
head  clerk  as  he  was  driving  them  back,  and  actuall}'  fought 
Gutch  afterwards  and  blacked  his  eye,  because  he  said  that 
Gutch's  red  velvet  waistcoat  frightened  the  horse. 

Lad}'  Jane,  however,  spared  me  such  an  uncomfortable 
ride  home  :  for  she  said  she  had  a  fourth  place  in  her  car- 
riage, and  asked  me  if  I  would  accept  it;  and  positiAely,  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  there  was  I,  after  setting  the  ladies 
and  my  lord  dow-n,  driven  to  Salisbury  Square  in  a  great 
thundering  carriage,  with  flaming  lamps  and  two  tall  footmen, 
who  nearly  knocked  the  door  and  the  whole  little  street  down 
with  the  noise  the}^  made  at  the  rapper.  Y^ou  should  have 
seen  Gus's  head  peeping  out  of  window  in  his  w^hite  night- 


36  THE  HTSTOEY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


cap  !  He  kept  me  np  the  whole  night  telling  him  about  the 
ball,  and  the  great  people  I  had  seen  there  ;  and  the  next  da}^ 
he  told  at  the  office  my  stories,  with  his  own  usual  embroideries 
upon  them. 

Mr.  Titmarsh,"  said  Lad}^  Fanny,  laughing  to  me,  "  who 
is  that  great  fat,  curious  man,  the  master  of  the  house?  Do 
3'ou  know  he  asked  me  if  you  were  not  related  to  us?  and  I 
said,    Oh,  yes,  you  were.'  " 

Fanny  !  "  says  Lady  Jane. 
'M\"ell,"  answered  the  other,  ''did  not  grandmamma  say 
Mr.  Titmarsh  was  her  cousin  ?  " 

"•But  3'ou  know  that  grandmamma's  memory  is  not  very 
good." 

''Indeed,  3'ou're  wrong.  Lady  Jane,"  says  my  lord;  "I 
think  it's  prodigious." 

"  Yes,  but  not  very  —  not  ver}'  accurate." 

"  No,  my  lady,"  says  I ;  "  for  her  ladyship,  the  Countess  of 
Drum,  said,  if  3'ou  remember,  that  m}^  friend  Gus  Hoskins  —  " 

"  Whose  cause  3'ou  supported  so  bravely,"  cries  Lady 
Fanny. 

"  — That  m}^  friend  Gus  is  her  lad3^ship's  cousin  too,  w^hich 
cannot  be,  for  I  know  all  his  family :  they  live  in  Skinner 
Street  and  St.  Mary  Axe,  and  are  not  —  not  quite  so  respect- 
able as  my  relatives." 

At  this  they  all  began  to  laugh ;  and  my  lord  said,  rather 
haughtily-,  — 

"Depend  upon  it,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  that  Lady  Drum  is  no 
more  your  cousin  than  she  is  the  cousin  of  your  friend  Mr. 
Hoskinson." 

"  Hoskins,  my  lord  —  and  so  I  told  Gus  ;  but  you  see  he  is 
ver}^  fond  of  me,  and  will  have  it  that  I  am  related  to  Lady  D.  : 
and  sa}^  what  I  will  to  the  contrary,  tells  the  story  everywhere. 
Though  to  be  sure,"  added  I,  with  a  laugh,  "  it  has  gained  me 
no  small  good  in  my  time."  So  I  described  to  the  party  our 
dinner  at  Mrs.  Roundhand's,  which  all  came  from  my  diamond 
pin,  and  m}^  reputation  as  a  connection  of  the  aristocracy. 
Then  I  thanked  Lady  Jane  handsomely  for  her  magnificent 
present  of  fruit  and  venison,  and  told  her  that  it  had  enter- 
tained a  great  number  of  kind  friends  of  mine,  who  had  drunk 
her  ladyship's  health  with  the  greatest  gratitude. 

"  A  haunch  of  venison  cried  Lad}^  Jane  quite  astonished  ; 
"  indeed,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  understand 
you." 

As  we  passed  a  gas-lamp,  I  saw  Lady  Fanny  laughing  as 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  37 


usual,  and  turning  her  great  arch  sparkling  black  eyes  at  Lord 
Tiptoff. 

''Why,  Lad}^  Jane,''  said  he,  ''if  the  truth  must  out,  the 
great  haunch  of  venison  trick  was  one  of  this  .young  lady's  per- 
forming. You  must  know  that  I  had  received  tiio  above-named 
haunch  from  Lord  Guttlebury's  park  ;  and  knowing  that  Pres- 
ton is  not  averse  to  Guttlebury  venison,  was  telling-  Lady  Drum 
(in  whose  carriage  I  had  a  seat  that  day,  as  Mr.  Ti (.marsh  was 
not  in  the  way),  that  I  intended  the  haunch  for  your  husband's 
table.  Whereupon  my  Lady  Fanny,  clapping  together  her  little 
hands,  declared  and  vowed  that  the  venison  shoukl  not  go  to 
Preston,  but  should  be  sent  to  a  gentleman  about  whose  acl ven- 
tures on  the  day  previous  we  had  just  been  talking,  —  to  Mr.  Tit- 
marsh,  in  fact ;  whom  Preston,  as  P'anny  vowed,  had  used  most 
cruell}',  and  to  whom,  she  said,  a  reparation  was  due.  So  ni}^ 
Lad}'  Fann}'  insists  upon  our  driving  straight  to  my  rooms  in  the 
'  Albany '  (3'ou  know  I  am  only  to  stay  in  m}'  bachelor's  quar- 
ters a  month  longer)  —  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  says  Lad}^  Fanny. 

" — Insists  upon  driving  straight  to  my  chambers  in  the 
'  Alban3^'  extracting  thence  the  above-named  haunch  —  " 

Grandmamma  was  very  sony  to  part  with  it,"  cries  Lad}' 
Fanny. 

" — And  then  she  orders  us  to  proceed  to  Mr.  Titmarsh's 
house  in  the  city,  where  the  venison  was  left,  in  company-  with  a 
couple  of  baskets  of  fruit  bought  at  Grange's  by  Lad}'  Fanny 
herself." 

''  And  what  was  more,"  said  Lady  Fanny,  "  I  made  grand- 
mamma go  into  Fr  into  Lord  Tiptoff  s  rooms,  and  dictated 

out  of  my  own  mouth  the  letter  which  he  wrote,  and  pinned  up 
the  haunch  of  venison  that  his  hideous  old  housekeeper  brought 
us  —  lam  quite  jealous  of  her  —  I  pinned  up  the  haunch  of 
venison  in  a  copy  of  the  John  Bull  newspaper." 

It  had  one  of  the  Ramsbottom  letters  in  it,  I  remember, 
which  Gus  and  I  read  on  Sunday  at  breakfast,  and  we  nearly 
killed  ourselves  with  laughing.  The  ladies  laughed  too  when  I 
told  them  this  ;  and  good-natured  Lady  Jane  said  she  would 
forgive  her  sister,  and  hoped  I  would  too  :  wdiich  I  promised  to 
do  as  often  as  her  ladyship  chose  to  repeat  the  offence. 

I  never  had  any  more  venison  from  the  family  ;  but  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  had.  About  a  month  after  came  a  card  of  "Lord 
and  Lady  Tiptoff,"  and  a  great  piece  of  plum-cake  ;  of  which,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  Gus  ate  a  great  deal  too  much. 


38  THE  HISTOKY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OF  THE  WEST  DIDDLESEX  ASSOCIATION  AND  OF  THE  EFFECT  THE 
DIAMOND  HAD  THERE. 

Well,  the  magic  of  the  pin  was  not  over  yet.  Very  soon 
after  Mrs.  Brough's  grand  party,  our  director  called  me  up  to  his 
room  at  the  West  Diddlesex,  and  after  examining  my  accounts, 
and  speaking  awhile  about  business,  said,  ''That's  a  very  fine 
diamond-pin.  Master  Titmarsh  "  (he  spoke  in  a  grave  patroniz- 
ing way),  and  I  called  3'ou  on  purpose  to  speak  to  you  upon 
the  subject.  I  do  not  object  to  seeing  the  young  men  of  this  es- 
tablishment well  and  handsomeh'  dressed  ;  but  I  know  that  their 
salaries  cannot  afford  ornaments  like  those,  and  I  grieve  to  see 
you  with  a  thing  of  such  value.  You  have  paid  for  it,  sir,  — I 
trust  3'ou  have  paid  for  it;  for,  of  all  things,  my  dear  —  dear 
3^oung  friend,  beware  of  debt." 

I  could  not  conceive  why  Brough  was  reading  me  this  lecture 
about  debt  and  my  having  bought  the  diamond-pin,  as  I  knew 
that  he  had  been  asking  about  it  alread}',  and  how  I  came  by 
it  —  Abednego  told  me  so.  ''AYhy,  sir,"  says  I,  ''Mr.  Abed- 
nego  told  me  that  he  had  told  you  that  I  had  told  him  —  " 

"Oh,  ay — by-the-by,  now  I  recollect,  Mr.  Titmarsh  —  Ido 
recollect  —  3'es  ;  though  I  suppose,  sir,  3^ou  will  imagine  that  I 
have  other  more  important  things  to  remember." 

"  Oh,  sir,  in  course,"  sa3^s  I. 

"That  one  of  the  clerks  did  say  something  about  a  pin  — 
that  one  of  the  other  gentlemen  had  it.  And  so  3^our  pin  was 
given  3'ou,  was  it?  " 

"  It  was  given  me,  sir,  b3^  m3^  aunt,  Mrs.  Hoggart3'  of  Castle 
Hoggart3',"  said  I,  raising  m3'  voice  ;  for  I  was  a  little  proud  of 
Castle  IIoggart3\ 

"  She  must  be  ver3'  rich  to  make  such  presents,  Titmarsh?" 

"  Win',  thank  3'ou,  sir,"  says  I,  "  she  is  pretty  well  off.  Four 
hundred  a  year  jointure ;  a  farm  at  Slopperton,  sir ;  three 
houses  at  Squashtail ;  and  three  thousand  two  hundred  loose 
cash  at  the  banker's,  as  I  happen  to  know,  sir,  — that's  alL^' 

I  did  happen  to  know  this,  you  see  ;  because,  while  I  was 
down  in  Somersetshire,  Mr.  MacManus,  m3'  aunt's  agent  in  Ire- 
land, wrote  to  say  that  a  mortgage  she  had  on  Lord  Bralla- 
ghan's  propert3^  had  just  been  paid  off,  and  that  the  money  was 


AND  THE  GREAT  IKXIOARTY  DIAMOND.  39 


lodged  at  Coutts's.  Ireland  was  iii  a  very  disturbed  state  in 
those  days  ;  and  my  aunt  wisely  determined  not  to  invest  her 
money  in  that  country  any  more,  but  to  look  out  for  some  good 
security  in  England.  However,  as  she  had  always  received  six 
per  cent  in  Ireland,  she  would  not  hear  of  a  smaller  interest ; 
and  had  warned  me,  as  I  w^as  a  commercial  man,  on  coming  to 
town,  to  look  out  for  some  means  by  which  she  could  invest 
her  money  at  that  rate  at  least. 

''And  how  do  you  come  to  know"  Mrs.  Hoggarty's  prop- 
erty so  accuratel}' ? "  said  Mr.  Brough ;  upon  which  I  told 
him. 

"  Good  heavens,  sir !  and  do  you  mean  that  you,  a  clerk  in 
the  West  Diddlesex  Insurance  Office,  applied  to  b}'  a  respect- 
able lady  as  to  the  manner  in  w^iich  she  should  invest  propertj^ 
never  spoke  to  her  about  the  company  which  you.  have  the  honor 
to  serve?  Do  3'ou  mean,  sir,  that  3'ou,  knowing  there  was  a 
bonus  of  five  per  cent  for  3'ourself  upon  shares  taken,  did  not 
press  Mrs.  Hoggartj^  to  join  us?" 

"  Sir,"  says  I,  "  I'm  an  honest  man,  and  would  not  take  a 
bonus  from  my  own  relation." 

"Honest  I  know  you  are,  my  bov  —  give  me  your  hand! 
So  am  I  honest  —  so  is  ever}'  man  in  this  Company  honest ;  but 
we  must  be  prudent  as  w^ell.  We  have  five  millions  of  capital 
on  our  books,  as  you  see  —  five  bond  Jide  millions  of  bond  fide 
sovereigns  paid  up,  sir, — there  is  no  dishonesty  there.  But 
w^hy  should  we  not  have  tw^ent}'  millions  —  a  hundred  millions? 
Why  should  not  this  be  the  greatest  commercial  association  in 
the  world?  —  as  it  shall  be,  sir,  —  it  shall,  as  sure  as  m}'  name 
is  John  Brough,  if  heaven  bless  m}'  honest  endeavors  to  estab- 
lish it !  But  do  you  suppose  that  it  can  be  so,  unless  every  man 
among  us  use  his  utmost  exertions  to  forward  the  success  of  the 
enterprise?  Never,  sir,  —  never;  and,  for  me,  I  sa}'  so  every- 
where. I  glory  in  what  I  do.  There  is  not  a  house  in  which  I 
enter,  but  I  leave  a  prospectus  of  the  West  Diddlesex.  There 
is  not  a  single  tradesman  I  emplo}',  but  has  shares  in  it  to  some 
amount.  My  servants,  sir,  —  m}'  very  servants  and  grooms, 
are  bound  up  with  it.  And  the  first  cj[uestion  I  ask  of  an}'  one 
who  applies  to  me  for  a  place  is.  Are  3'ou  insured  or  a  share- 
holder in  the  West  Diddlesex?  the  second,  Have  3'ou  a  good 
character?  And  if  the  first  question  is  answered  in  the  negative, 
I  say  to  the  party  coming  to  me,  then  be  a  shareholder  before 
3'ou  ask  for  a  place  in  my  household.  Did  you  not  see  me  — 
me,  John  Brough,  whose  name  is  good  for  millions  —  step  out 
of  my  coach-and-four  into  this  office,  with  four  pounds  nineteen, 


40  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


which  I  paid  in  to  Mr.  Roundhand  as  the  price  of  half  a  share 
for  the  porter  at  m}^  lodge-gate  ?  Did  you  remark  that  I  de- 
ducted a  shilling  from  the  five  pound?'' 

Yes,  sir ;  it  was  the  da}'  you  drew  out  eight  hundred  and 
seventy-three  ten  and  six  —  Thursday  week,"  sa^'s  I. 

And  why  did  I  deduct  that  shilling,  sir?  Because  it  was 
my  commission — John  Brongh's  commission  of  five  per  cent; 
honestly'  earned  by  him,  and  openl}'  taken.  Was  there  any 
(HsgLiise  about  it?  No.  Did  I  do  it  for  the  love  of  a  shilling? 
No,"  saj's  Broiigh,  laying  his  hand  on  his  heart,  I  did  it 
from  principle^  —  from  that  motive  which  guides  every  one  of 
my  actions,  as  I  can  look  up  to  heaven  and  ^2i}\  I  wish  all 
ni}'  young  men  to  see  my  example,  and  follow  it:  I  wish  —  I 
pra}'  that  the}'  may.  Think  of  that  example,  sir.  That  porter 
of  mine  has  a  sick  wife  and  nine  3'oung  children  :  he  is  himself 
a  sick  man,  and  his  tenure  of  life  is  feeble ;  he  has  earned 
money,  sir,  in  my  service  —  sixty  pounds  and  more  —  it  is  all 
his  children  have  to  look  to  —  all :  but  for  that,  in  the  event 
of  his  death,  they  would  be  houseless  beggars  in  the  street. 
And  what  have  1  done  for  that  family,  sir?  I  have  put  that 
money  out  of  the  reach  of  Robert  Gates,  and  placed  it  so  that 
it  shall  be  a  blessing  to  his  family  at  his  death.  Ever}-  far- 
thing is  invested  in  shares  in  this  oflSce  ;  and  Robert  Gates,  m}^ 
lodge-porter,  is  a  holder  of  three  shares  in  the  West  Diddlesex 
Association,  and,  in  that  capacity,  your  master  and  mine. 
Do  you  think  I  want  to  cheat  Gates? " 
Oh,  sir  !  "  sa^'s  I. 

"To  cheat  that  poor  helpless  man,  and  those  tender,  inno- 
cent children  !  — you  can't  think  so,  sir  ;  1  should  be  a  disgrace 
to  human  nature  if  I  did.  But  what  boots  all  my  energy  and 
perseverance?  What  though  I  place  my  friends'  mone}',  my 
family's  money,  my  own  money  —  my  hopes,  wishes,  desires, 
ambitions  —  all  upon  this  euterprise?  You  young  men  will  not 
do  so.  You,  wliom  1  treat  with  love  and  confidence  as  my 
children,  make  no  return  to  me.  When  I  toil,  you  remain 
still ;  when  I  struggle,  you  look  on.  Sa}-  the  word  at  once,  — 
you  doubt  me  !  O  heavens,  that  this  should  be  the  reward  of 
all  my  care  and  love  for  you  ! " 

Here  Mr.  Brough  was  so  afifected  that  he  actuall}'  burst  into 
tears,  and  I  confess  I  saw  in  its  true  light  the  negligence  of 
which  I  had  been  guilty. 

"  vSir,"  says  I,  I  am  very  —  very  sorry:  it  was  a  matter 
of  delicacy,  rather  tiian  otherwise,  which  induced  me  not  to 
speak  to  my  aunt  about  the  West  Diddlesex." 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGG  ARTY  DIAMOND. 


41 


"Delicacy,  in}^  dear,  dear  boy  —  as  if  there  can  be  any 
delicac}^  about  making  your  aunt's  fortune  !  Say  indifference 
to  me,  say  ingratitude,  say  folh^, — but  don't  say  delicacy  — 
no,  no,  not  delicacy.  Be  honest,  my  bo}^,  and  call  things  by 
their  right  names  —  alwaj^s  do." 

''It  wcfs  folly  and  ingratitude,  Mr.  Brough,"  says  I:  ''I 
see  it  all  now  ;  and  I'll  write  to  my  aunt  this  very  post." 

"  You  had  better  do  no  such  thing,"  says  Brough,  bitterl}^ : 
"the  stocks  are  at  ninet}^,  and  Mrs.  Hoggarty  can  get  three 
per  cent  for  her  mone3\" 

"  I  will  write,  sir,  —  upon  my  word  and  honor,  I  will  write." 

"  Well,  as  your  honor  is  passed,  you  must,  I  suppose  ;  for 
never  break  your  word  —  no,  not  in  a  trifle,  Titmarsh.  Send 
me  up  the  letter  when  you  have  done,  and  I'll  frank  it  —  upon 
my  word  and  honor  I  will,"  saj^s  Mr.  Brough,  laughing,  and 
holding  out  his  hand  to  me. 

I  took  it,  and  he  pressed  mine  very  kindly,  —  "You  may 
as  well  sit  down  here,"  says  he,  as  he  kept  hold  of  it ;  "  there 
is  plenty  of  paper." 

And  so  I  sat  down  and  mended  a  beautiful  pen,  and  began 
and  wrote,  "  Independent  West  Diddlesex  Association,  June, 
1822,"  and  "My  dear  Aunt,"  in  the  best  manner  possible. 
Then  I  paused  a  little,  thinking  what  I  should  next  sa}' ;  for 
I  have  always  found  that  difficulty  about  letters.  The  date 
and  m}'  dear  so-and-so  one  writes  off  immediately  —  it  is  the 
next  part  which  is  hard ;  and  I  put  my  pen  in  m}'  mouth,  flung 
myself  back  in  my  chair,  and  began  to  think  about  it. 

"Bah!"  said  Brough,  "are  you  going  to  be  about  that 
letter  all  day,  my  good  fellow?  Listen  to  me,  and  I'll  dictate 
to  you  in  a  moment."    So  he  began  :  — 

"  My  DEAR  Aunt,  —  Since  iny  return  from  Somersetshire,  I  am  very 
happy  indeed  to  tell  you  that  I  have  so  pleased  the  managing  director  of 
our  Association  and  the  Board,  that  they  have  been  good  enough  to  ap- 
point me  third  clerk  —  " 

"  Sir  !  "  says  I. 

"Write  what  I  say.  Mr.  Eoundhand,  as  has  been  agreed 
by  the  board  yesterday,  quits  the  clerk's  desk  and  takes  the 
title  of  secretary  and  actuary.  Mr.  Highmore  takes  his  place : 
Mr.  Abednego  follows  him ;  and  I  place  you  as  third  clerk  — 
as 

"third  clerk  (write),  with  a  salary  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  per 
annum.  This  news  will,  I  know,  gratify  my  dear  mother  and  you,  who 
have  been  a  second  mother  to  me  all  my  life. 


42  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


"  When  I  was  last  at  home,  I  remember  you  consulted  me  as  to  the  best 
mode  of  laying  out  a  sum  of  money  which  was  lying  useless  in  your  bank- 
er's hands.  I  have  since  lost  no  opportunity  of  gaining  what  information 
I  could :  and  situated  here  as  I  am,  in  the  very  midst  of  affairs,  I  believe, 
although  very  young,  I  am  as  good  a  person  to  apply  to  as  many  others 
of  greater  age  and  standing. 

"  I  frequently  thought  of  mentioning  to  you  our  Association,  but  feel- 
ings of  delicacy  prevented  me  from  doing  so.  I  did  not  wish  that  any  one 
should  suppose  that  a  shadow  of  self-interest  could  move  me  in  any  way. 

But  I  believe,  without  any  sort  of  doubt,  that  the  West  Diddlesex 
Association  offers  the  best  security  that  you  can  expect  for  your  capital, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  tlie  highest  interest  you  can  anywhere  procure. 

"  The  situation  of  the  Company,  as  I  have  it  from  the  very  best  authority 
(underline  that),  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  The  subscribed  and  bond  fide  capital  is  five  millions  sterling. 

"  The  body  of  directors  you  know.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  managing 
director  is  John  Brough,  Esq.,  of  the  firm  of  Brough  and  Hoff,  a  Member 
of  Parliament,  and  a  man  as  well  known  as  Mr.  Rothschild  in  the  city  of 
London.  His  private  fortune,  I  know  for  a  fact,  amounts  to  half  a  mil- 
lion ;  and  the  last  dividends  paid  to  the  shareholders  of  the  I.  W.  D.  Asso- 
ciation amounted  to  6J  per  cent  per  annum.'^ 

[That  I  know  was  the  dividend  declared  by  us.] 

"Although  the  shares  in  the  market  are  at  a  very  great  premium,  it  is 
the  privilege  of  the  four  first  clerks  to  dispose  of  a  certain  number,  5,000/. 
each  at  par  ;  and  if  you,  my  dearest  aunt,  would  wish  for  2,500/.  worth,  I 
hope  you  will  allow  me  to  oblige  you  by  offering  you  so  much  of  my  new 
privileges. 

Let  me  hear  from  you  immediately  upon  the  subject,  as  I  have  already 
an  offer  for  the  whole  amount  of  my  shares  at  market  price." 

"  But  I  haven't,  sir,"  sa^^s  I. 

"You  have,  sir.  /will  take  the  shares;  but  I  want  you, 
I  want  as  many  respectable  persons  in  the  compan}'  as  I  can 
bring.  I  want  you  because  I  like  you,  and  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  that  I  have  views  of  my  own  as  well ;  for  I  am  an  honest 
man  and  say  openly  what  I  mean,  and  I'll  tell  3^ou  why  I  want 
you.  I  can't,  by  the  regulations  of  the  company,  have  more 
than  a  certain  number  of  votes,  but  if  your  aunt  takes  shares, 
I  expect  —  I  don't  mind  owning  it  —  that  she  will  vote  with 
me.  Now  do  you  understand  me  ?  My  object  is  to  be  all  in 
all  with  the  company ;  and  if  I  be,  I  will  make  it  the  most 
glorious  enterprise  that  ever  was  conducted  in  the  city  of 
London." 

So  I  signed  the  letter  and  left  it  with  Mr.  B.  to  frank. 

The  next  day  I  went  and  took  my  place  at  the  third  clerk's 
desk,  being  led  to  it  by  Mr.  B.,  who  made  a  speech  to  the 
gents,  nmch  to  the  annoy  ance  of  the  other  chaps,  who  grum- 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  43 


bled  about  their  services  :  though,  as  for  the  matter  of  that, 
our  services  were  very  much  ahke  :  the  company  was  only 
three  years  old,  and  the  oldest  clerk  in  it  had  not  six  months' 
more  standing  in  it  than  I.  ''Look  out,"  said  that  envious 
M'Whirter  to  me.  ''  Have  you  got  money,  or  have  any  of 
3'our  relations  money  ?  or  are  any  of  them  going  to  put  it  into 
the  concern  ?  " 

I  did  not  think  fit  to  answer  him,  but  took  a  pinch  out 
of  his  mull,  and  was  alwa3's  kind  to  him  ;  and  he,  to  say  the 
truth,  was  always  most  civil  to  me.  As  for  Gus  Hoskins,  he 
began  to  think  I  was  a  superior  being ;  and  I  must  sa}'  that 
the  rest  of  the  chaps  behaved  very  kindly  in  the  matter, 
and  said  that  if  one  man  were  to  be  put  over  their  heads 
before  another,  they  would  have  pitched  upon  me,  for  I  had 
never  harmed  any  of  them,  and  done  little  kindnesses  to 
several. 

''I  know,"  says  Abednego,  "how  3^ou  got  the  place.  It 
was  I  who  got  it  3'ou.  I  told  Brough  you  were  a  cousin  of 
Preston's,  the  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  had  venison  from  him  and 
all  that ;  and  depend  upon  it  he  expects  that  you  will  be  able 
to  do  him  some  good  in  that  quarter." 

I  think  there  was  some  likelihood  in  what  Abednego  said, 
because  our  governor,  as  we  called  him,  frequently  spoke  to 
me  about  my  cousin ;  told  me  to  push  the  concern  in  the  West 
End  of  the  town,  get  as  many  noblemen  as  we  could  to  insure 
with  us,  and  so  on.  It  was  in  vain  I  said  that  I  coukl  do 
nothing  with  Mr.  Preston.  ''Bah!  bah!"  saj^s  Mr.  Brough, 
"  don't  tell  me.  People  don't  send  haunches  of  venison  to  3'ou 
for  nothing ; "  and  I'm  convinced  he  thought  I  was  a  ver}^ 
cautious,  prudent  fellow,  for  not  bragging  about  my  great 
family,  and  keeping  my  connection  with  them  a  secret.  To  be 
sure  he  might  have  learned  the  truth  from  Gus,  who  lived  with 
me  ;  but  Gus  would  insist  that  I  was  hand  in  glove  wdth  all 
the  nobility,  and  boasted  about  me  ten  times  as  much  as  I  did 
myself. 

The  chaps  used  to  call  me  the  "  West  Ender." 

"  See,"  thought  I,  "  what  I  have  gained  by  aunt  Hoggarty 
giving  me  a  diamond-pin  !  What  a  lucky  thing  it  is  that  she 
did  not  give  me  the  money,  as  I  hoped  she  ^YOuld  !  Had  I  not 
had  the  pin  —  had  I  even  taken  it  to  any  other  person  but  Mr. 
Polonius,  Lady  Drum  would  never  have  noticed  me  ;  had  Lad}' 
Drum  never  noticed  me.  Mr.  Brough  never  would,  and  I  never 
should  have  been  third  clerk  of  the  West  Diddlesex." 

I  took  heart  at  all  this,  and  wrote  off  on  the  very  evening  of 


44  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


my  appointment  tomj-  dearest  Mary  Smith,  giving  her  warning 
that  a  certain  event,"  for  which  one  of  us  was  longing  very 
earnestl}',  might  come  off  sooner  than  we  had  expected.  And 
why  not?  Miss  S/s  own  fortune  was  70/.  a  3'ear,  mine  was 
150/.,  and  when  we  had  300/.,  we  always  vowed  we  would 
marry.  "  Ah  !  "  thought  I,  if  I  could  but  go  to  Somerset- 
shire now,  I  might  boldly  walk  up  to  old  Smith's  door  "  (he  was 
her  grandfather,  and  a  half-pa}^  lieutenant  of  the  navy),  ''I 
might  knock  at  the  knocker  and  see  my  beloved  Mary  in  the 
parlor,  and  not  be  obliged  to  sneak  behind  hayricks  on  the 
look-out  for  her,  or  pelt  stones  at  midnight  at  her  window." 

My  aunt,  in  a  few  days,  wrote  a  pretty  gracious  reply  to  my 
letter.  She  had  not  determined,  she  said,  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  she  should  emplo}'  her  three  thousand  pounds,  but  should 
take  my  offer  into  consideration  ;  begging  me  to  keep  my  shares 
open  for  a  little  while,  until  her  mind  was  made  up. 

What,  then,  does  Mr.  Brough  do?  I  learned  afterwards,  in 
the  year  1830,  when  he  and  the  West  Diddlesex  Association  had 
disappeared  altogether,  how  he  had  proceeded. 

Who  are  the  attorneys  at  Slopperton?  "  says  he  to  me  in 
a  careless  wa3\ 

"  Mr.  Ruck,  sir,"  says  I,  is  the  Tory  solicitor,  and  Messrs. 
Hodge  and  Smithers  the  Liberals."  I  knew  them  very  well, 
for  the  fact  is,  before  Mary  Smith  came  to  live  in  our  parts,  I 
was  rather  partial  to  Miss  Hodge,  and  her  great  gold-colored 
ringlets ;  but  Mary  came  and  soon  put  her  nose  out  of  joint,  as 
the  saving  is. 

"  And  you  are  of  what  politics?" 

"  Wh}^  sir,  we  are  Liberals."  I  was  rather  ashamed  of 
this,  for  Mr.  Brough  was  an  out-and-out  Tory  ;  but  Hodge  and 
Smithers  is  a  most  respectable  firm.  I  brought  up  a  packet 
from  them  to  Hickson,  Dixon,  Paxton  and  Jackson,  our  solici- 
tors, who  are  their  London  correspondents. 

Mr.  Brough  only  said,  "  Oh,  indeed  !  "  and  did  not  talk  an}^ 
further  on  the  subject,  but  began  admiring  my  diamond-pin 
very  much. 

Titmarsh  my  dear  boy,"  says  he,  "  I  have  a  young  lady 
at  Fulham  who  is  worth  seeing,  I  assure  you,  and  who  has 
heard  so  much  about  you  from  her  father  (for  I  like  3^ou,  my 
boy,  I  don't  care  to  own  it) ,  that  she  is  rather  anxious  to  see 
3'OU  too.  Suppose  3'ou  come  down  to  us  for  a  week?  Abed- 
nego  will  do  your  work." 

"  Law,  sir !  3'ou  are  very  kind,"  says  I. 

Well,  you  shall  come  down  ;  and  1  hope  you  will  like  my 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGG  ARTY  DIAMOND.  45 


claret.  But  hark  ye  !  I  don't  think,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are 
quite  smart  enough  —  quite  well  enough  dressed.  Do  you 
understand  me  ?  " 

Fve  my  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons  at  home,  sir." 

"  What!  that  thing  with  the  waist  between  your  shoulders 
that  you  wore  at  Mrs.  Brough's  party?*'  (It  was  rather  high- 
waisted,  being  made  in  the  country  two  years  before.)  No 
—  no,  that  will  never  do.  Get  some  new  clothes,  sir,  —  two 
new  suits  of  clothes." 

Sir  !  "  says  I,  I'm  already,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  very 
short  of  money  for  this  quarter,  and  can't  afford  myself  a  new 
suit  for  a  long  time  to  come." 

''Pooh,  pooh!  don't  let  that  annoy  you.  Here's  a  ten- 
pound  note  —  but  no,  on  second  thoughts,  you  may  as  well  go 
to  m}'  tailor's.  I'll  drive  yon  down  there  :  and  never  mind  the 
bill,  m}^  good  lad  !  "  And  drive  me  down  he  actually  did,  in 
his  grand  coach-and-four,  to  Mr.  Von  Stiltz,  in  Clifford  Street, 
who  took  my  measure,  and  sent  me  home  two  of  the  finest  coats 
ever  seen,  a  dress-coat  and  a  frock,  a  velvet  waistcoat,  a  silk 
ditto,  and  three  pairs  of  pantaloons,  of  the  most  beautiful  make. 
Brough  told  me  to  get  some  boots  and  pumps,  and  silk  stock- 
ings for  evenings  ;  so  that  when  the  time  came  for  me  to  go 
down  to  Fulham,  I  appeared  as  handsome  as  any  young  noble- 
man, and  Gus  said  that ''  I  looked,  by  jingo,  like  a  regular  tip- 
top swell." 

In  the  meantime  the  following  letter  had  been  sent  down  to 
Hodge  and  Smithers  :  — 

"  Ram  Alley,  Cornhill,  London, 
July,  1822. 

"Deae  Sirs, 

This  part  being  on  private  affairs 
relative  to  the  cases  of 
Dixon  V.  Haggerstony, 
Snodgrass  v.  Rubbidge  and  another, 
I  am  not  permitted 
to  extract. 


"  Likewise  we  beg  to  liand  you  a  few  more  prospectuses  of  the  Inde- 
pendent West  Diddlesex  Fire  and  Life  Assurance  Company,  of  which  we 
have  the  honor  to  be  the  solicitors  in  London.  We  wrote  to"  you  last  year, 
requesting  you  to  accept  the  Slopperton  and  Somerset  agency  for  the  same, 
and  have  been  expecting  for  some  time  back  that  either  shares  or  assur- 
ances should  be  effected  by  you. 

"  The  capital  of  the  Company,  as  you  know,  is  five  millions  sterling  (say 
5,000,000/.),  and  we  are  in  a  situation  to  offer  more  than  the  usual  com- 


46  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


mission  to  our  agents  of  the  legal  profession.  We  shall  be  happy  to  give 
a  premium  of  6  per  cent  for  shares  to  the  amount  of  1,000/.,  6J  per  cent 
above  a  thousand,  to  be  paid  immediately  upon  the  taking  of  the  shares. 

"  I  am,  dear  Sirs,  for  self  and  partners, 
Yours  most  faithfully, 

Samuel  Jackson." 

This  letter,  as  I  have  said,  came  into  my  hands  some  time 
afterwards.  I  knew  nothing  of  it  in  the  year  1822,  when, 
in  my  new  suit  of  clothes,  I  went  down  to  pass  a  week  at  the 
Rooker}^,  Fulham,  residence  of  John  Brough,  Esq.,  M.P. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HOW  SAMUEL  TITMARSH  REACHED  THE  HIGHEST  POINT  OF  PROS- 
PERITY. 

If  I  had  the  pen  of  a  George  Robins,  I  might  describe  the 
Rookery  properly :  suffice  it,  however,  to  saj-,  it  is  a  very 
handsome  country  place  ;  with  handsome  lawns  sloping  down 
to  the  river,  handsome  shrubberies  and  conservatories,  fine 
stables,  out-houses,  kitchen-gardens,  and  everything  belonging 
to  a  first-rate  rus  in  iirbe^  as  the  great  auctioneer  called  it  when 
he  hammered  it  down  some  years  after. 

I  arrived  on  a  Saturday  at  half  an  hour  before  dinner :  a 
grave  gentleman  out  of  liver}^  showed  me  to  my  room  ;  a  man 
in  a  chocolate  coat  and  gold  lace,  with  Brough's  crest  on  the 
buttons,  brought  me  a  silver  shaving-pot  of  hot  water  on  a 
silver  tray  ;  and  a  grand  dinner  was  ready  at  six,  at  which  I 
had  the  honor  of  appearing  in  Yon  Stiltz's  dress-coat  and  m}^ 
new  silk  stockings  and  pumps. 

Brough  took  me  b}^  the  hand  as  I  came  in,  and  presented 
me  to  his  lady,  a  stout,  fair-haired  woman,  in  light  blue  satin  ; 
then  to  his  daughter,  a  tall,  thin,  dark-eyed  girl,  with  beetle- 
brows,  looking  very  ill-natured,  and  about  eighteen. 

"  Belinda  my  love,"  said  her  papa,  "  this  j^oung  gentleman 
is  one  of  m}-  clerks,  who  was  at  our  ball." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  says  Belinda,  tossing  up  her  head. 

"But  not  a  common  clerk.  Miss  Belinda, — so,  if  3'ou 
please,  we  will  have  none  of  your  aristocratic  airs  with  him. 
lie  is  a  nephew  of  the  Countess  of  Drum  ;  and  I  hope  he  will 
soon  be  very  higli  in  our  establishment,  and  in  the  cit}^  of 
London." 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  47 


At  the  name  of  Countess  (I  had  a  dozen  times  rectified  the 
error  about  our  relationship),  Miss  Behnda  made  a  low  curtsy, 
and  stared  at  me  very  hard,  and  said  she  would  try  and  make 
the  Rookery  pleasant  to  any  friend  of  papa's.  We  have  not 
much  monde  to-day,"  continued  Miss  Brough,  and  are  only  in 
petit  comite ;  but  I  hope  before  you  leave  us  you  will  see  some 
societe  that  will  make  your  sejour  agreeable." 

I  saw  at  once  that  she  was  a  fashionable  girl,  from  her  using 
the  French  language  in  this  way. 

"  Isn't  she  a  fine  girl?  "  said  Brough,  whispering  to  me,  and 
evidently  as  proud  of  her  as  a  man  could  be.  Isn't  she  a  fine 
girl  —  eh,  you  dog?  Do  3^ou  see  breeding  like  that  in  Somer- 
setshire ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  upon  my  word !  "  answered  I,  rather  skly  ;  for  I 
was  thinking  all  the  while  how  Somebody"  was  a  thousand 
times  more  beautiful,  simple,  and  lad3'^-like. 

And  what  has  my  dearest  love  been  doing  all  da}^?  "  said 
her  papa. 

''Oh,  Pa  !  I  have  pinced  the  harp  a  little  to  Captain  Fizgig's 
flute.    Didn't  I,  Captain  Fizgig?  " 

Captain  the  Hon.  Francis  Fizgig  said,  "Yes,  Brough,  3^our 
fair  daughter  pinced  the  harp,  and  touched  the  piano,  and  egra- 
tigned  the  guitar,  and  ecorched  a  song  or  two  ;  and  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  a  'promenade  a  Veau^  —  of  a  walk  upon  the  water." 

''  Law,  captain  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brough,  ''  walk  on  the  water?  " 

"  Hush,  mamma,  3^ou  don't  understand  French  !  "  sa3's  Miss 
Belinda,  with  a  sneer. 

"It's  a  sad  disadvantage,  madam,"  sa3^s  Fizgig,  graveh' ; 
"  and  I  recommend  3^ou  and  Brough  here,  w4io  are  coming  out 
in  the  great  world,  to  have  some  lessons  ;  or  at  least  get  up  a 
couple  of  dozen  phrases,  and  introduce  them  into  your  conversa- 
tion here  and  there.  I  suppose,  sir,  3^ou  speak  it  commonh'  at 
the  oflfice,  or  what  you  call  it?  "  And  Mr.  Fizgig  put  his  glass 
into  his  eye  and  looked  at  me. 

"  We  speak  English,  sir,"  sa3's  I,  "  knowing  it  better  than 
French." 

"  Ever3^bod3^  has  not  had  3^our  opportunities.  Miss  Brough," 
continued  the  gentleman.  "Everybody  has  not  voyage  like 
nous  autres^  he3' ?  Mais  que  voulez-vous^  m3^  good  sir?  3'ou  must 
stick  to  your  cursed  ledgers  and  things.  What's  the  French  for 
ledger,  Miss  Belinda?" 

"  How  can  3'ou  ask  !    Je  n^en  sgais  rien,  I'm  sure." 

"  You  should  learn.  Miss  Brough,"  said  her  father.  "  The 
daughter  of  a  British  merchant  need  not  be  ashamed  of  the 


48  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


means  by  which  her  father  gets  his  bread.  Fm  not  ashamed  — 
I'm  not  proud.  Those  who  know  John  Brough,  know  that  ten 
years  ago  he  was  a  poor  clerk  hke  my  friend  Titmarsh  here,  and 
is  now  worth  half  a  million.  Is  there  an}^  man  in  the  House 
better  listened  to  than  John  Brough  ?  Is  there  an}^  Duke  in  the 
land  that  can  give  a  better  dinner  than  John  Brough  ;  or  a  larger 
fortune  to  his  daughter  than  John  Brough?  Why,  sir,  the 
humble  person  now  speaking  to  you  could  buy  out  man}^  a 
German  duke  !  But  I'm  not  proud  —  no,  no,  not  proud. 
There's  m}'  daughter — look  at  her  —  when  I  die,  she  will  be 
mistress  of  m}^  fortune  ;  but  am  I  proud?  No  !  Let  him  who 
can  win  her  marry  her,  that's  what  I  say.  Be  it  you^  Mr.  Fiz- 
gig, son  of  a  peer  of  the  realm  ;  or  you.  Bill  Tidd.  Be  it  a 
duke  or  a  shoeblack,  what  do  I  care,  hey?  —  what  do  I  care?" 

0-o-oh  !  "  sighed  the  gent  who  went  hy  the  name  of  Bill 
Tidd  :  a  very  pale  young  man,  with  a  black  ribbon  round  his 
neck  instead  of  a  handkerchief,  and  his  collars  turned  down 
like  Lord  Byron.  He  was  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece, 
and  with  a  pair  of  great  green  eyes  ogling  Miss  Brough  with  all 
his  might. 

"  Oh,  John  —  my  dear  John  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Brough,  seizing 
her  husband's  hand  and  kissing  it,  you  are  an  angel,  that  you 
are !  " 

"Isabella,  don't  flatter  me;  I'm  a  man^ — a  plain,  down- 
right citizen  of  London,  without  a  particle  of  pride,  except  in 
3"0u  and  my  daughter  here  —  my  two  Bells,  as  I  call  them! 
This  is  the  way  that  we  live,  Titmarsh  my  bo}^ :  ours  is  a  happ}', 
humble.  Christian  home,  and  that's  all.  Isabella,  leave  go  my 
hand !  " 

"  Mamma,  you  mustn't  do  so  before  company  ;  it's  odious  ! " 
shrieked  Miss  B.  ;  and  mamma  quietly  let  the  hand  fall,  and 
heaved  from  her  ample  bosom  a  great  large  sigh.  I  felt  a  lik- 
ing for  that  simple  woman,  and  a  respect  for  Brough  too.  He 
couldn't  be  a  bad  man,  whose  wife  loved  him  so. 

Dinner  was  soon  announced,  and  I  had  the  honor  of  leading 
in  Miss  B.,  who  looked  back  rather  angrily,  I  thought,  at  Cap- 
tain Fizgig,  because  that  gentleman  had  offered  his  arm  to 
Mrs.  Brough.  He  sat  on  the  right  of  Mrs.  Brough,  and  Miss 
flounced  down  on  the  seat  next  to  him,  leaving  me  and  Mr. 
Tidd  to  take  our  places  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 

At  dinner  there  was  turbot  and  soup  first,  and  boiled  turkey 
afterwards  of  course.  How  is  it  that  at  all  the  great  dinners 
the}'  have  this  i)erpetual  boiled  turkey?  It  was  real  turtle-soup  : 
the  first  time  I  had  ever  tasted  it ;  and  I  remarked  how  Mrs. 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  49 


B.,  who  insisted  on  helping  it,  gave  all  the  green  lumps  of  fat 
to  her  husband,  and  put  several  slices  of  the  breast  of  the  bird 
under  the  body,  until  it  came  to  his  turn  to  be  helped. 

I'm  a  plain  man,"  says  John,  "  and  eat  a  plain  dinner.  I 
hate  your  kickshaws,  though  I  keep  a  French  cook  for  those 
who  are  not  of  my  way  of  thinking.  I'm  no  egotist,  look  you  ; 
I've  no  prejudices  ;  and  Miss  there  has  her  bechamels  and  fall- 
als according  to  her  taste.    Captain,  try  the  volh/  vony.'' 

We  had  plent}'  of  champagne  and  old  madeira  with  dinner, 
and  great  silver  tankards  of  porter,  which  those  might  take  who 
chose.  Brough  made  especiall}^  a  boast  of  drinking  beer  ;  and, 
when  the  ladies  retired,  said,  Gentlemen,  Tiggins  will  give 
you  an  unlimited  supply  of  wine  :  there's  no  stinting  here  ;  "  and 
then  laid  himself  down  in  his  easy-chair  and  fell  asleep. 

"  He  always  does  so,"  whispered  Mr.  Tidd  to  me. 

"  Get  some  of  that  yellow-sealed  wine,  Tiggins,"  says  the 
captain.  That  other  claret  we  had  yesterday  is  loaded,  and 
disagrees  with  me  infernall}^ !  " 

I  must  say  I  liked  the  yellow  seal  much  better  than  aunt 
Hoggart3^'s  Rosolio. 

I  soon  found  out  what  Mr.  Tidd  was,  and  what  he  was  long- 
ing for. 

Isn't  she  a  glorious  creature?"  says  he  to  me. 

Who,  sir?"  says  I. 
''Miss  Belinda,  to  be  sure!"  cried  Tidd.    "Did  mortal 
ever  look  upon  e3'es  like  hers,  or  view  a  more  sjiph-like 
figure  ?  " 

"  She  might  have  a  little  more  flesh,  Mr.  Tidd,"  says  the 
captain,  "  and  a  little  less  e^^ebrow.  They  look  vicious,  those 
scowling  e3^ebrows,  in  a  girl.  Qu'en  dites-vous^  Mr.  Titmarsh, 
as  Miss  Brough  would  say  ?  " 

''  I  think  it  remarkabl}^  good  claret,  sir,"  sa3's  I. 

"  Egad,  you're  the  right  sort  of  fellow  !  "  saj^s  the  captain. 
"  Volto  sciolto,  eh?    You  respect  our  sleeping  host  yonder?" 

"  That  I  do,  sir,  as  the  first  man  in  the  city  of  London,  and 
my  managing  director." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  sa3^s  Tidd  ;  "  and  this  da}'  fortnight,  when 
I'm  of  age,  I'll  prove  my  confidence  too." 

"  As  how?  "  sa3's  I. 

"  Wh3%  sir,  you  must  know  that  I  come  into  —  ahem  —  a 
considerable  propert3%  ^^^^  ^^^^  \^t\\  of  JUI3',  which  m3'  father 
made  —  in  business." 

"  Sa3'  at  once  he  was  a  tailor,  Tidd." 

"  He  was  a  tailor,  sir,  —  but  what  of  that?    I've  had  a  uni- 

4 


50  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


versity  education,  and  have  the  feehngs  of  a  gentleman ;  as 
much  —  ay,  perhaps,  and  more,  than  some  members  of  an  effete 
aristocrac}'. " 

Tidd,  don't  be  severe  !  "  says  the  captain,  drinking  a  tenth 
glass. 

Well,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  when  of  age  I  come  into  a  consider- 
able property ;  and  Mr.  Brough  has  been  so  good  as  to  say  he 
can  get  me  twelve  hundred  a  year  for  my  twentj'  thousand 
pounds,  and  I  have  promised  to  invest  them." 

"  In  the  West  Diddlesex,  sir?  "  says  I  —  ''in  our  office?  " 

"  No,  in  another  company,  of  which  Mr.  Brough  is  director, 
and  quite  as  good  a  thing.  Mr.  Brough  is  a  very  old  friend  of 
my  famil}^,  sir,  and  he  has  taken  a  great  liking  to  me  ;  and  he 
sa3^s  that  with  my  talents  I  ought  to  get  into  Parliament ;  and 
then  —  and  then  !  after  I  have  laid  out  my  patrimony,  I  may 
look  to  matrimony^  you  see  !  " 

''Oh,  you  designing  dog!"  says  the  captain.  "When  I 
used  to  lick  3'ou  at  school,  who  ever  would  have  thought  that 
I  was  thrashing  a  sucking  statesman?" 

"  Talk  awa}^,  boys  !  "  said  Brough,  waking  out  of  his  sleep  ; 
"  I  only  sleep  with  half  an  e3'e,  and  hear  j'ou  all.  Yes,  you 
shall  get  into  Parliament,  Tidd  my  man,  or  my  name's  not 
Brough  !  You  shall  have  six  per  cent  for  3^our  money,  or  never 
believe  me!  But  as  for  m}'  daughter  —  ask  her  and  not  me. 
You,  or  the  captain,  or  Titmarsh,  may  have  her,  if  3'ou  can  get 
her.  All  I  ask  in  a  son-in-law  is,  that  he  should  be,  as  every 
one  of  you  is,  an  honorable  and  high-minded  man  !  " 

Tidd  at  this  looked  very  knowing ;  and  as  our  host  sank  off 
to  sleep  again,  pointed  archly  at  his  eyebrows,  and  wagged  his 
head  at  the  captain. 

"  Bah  !  "  says  the  captain.  "  I  say  what  I  think  ;  and  you 
may  tell  Miss  Brough  if  you  like."  And  so  presently  this  con- 
versation ended,  and  we  were  summoned  in  to  coffee.  After 
which  the  captain  sang  songs  with  Miss  Brough  ;  Tidd  looked 
at  her  and  said  nothing  ;  I  looked  at  prints,  and  Mrs.  Brough 
sat  knitting  stockings  for  the  poor.  The  captain  was  sneering 
openly  at  Miss  Brough  and  her  affected  ways  and  talk  ;  but  in 
spite  of  his  bullying  contemptuous  way,  1  thought  she  seemed 
to  have  a  great  regard  for  him,  and  to  l)ear  his  scorn  very  meekly. 

At  twelve  Captain  Fizgig  went  off  to  his  barracks  at  Knights- 
bridge,  and  Tidd  and  I  to  our  rooms.  Next  da>'  being  Sunday, 
a  great  bell  woke  us  at  eight,  and  at  nine  we  all  assembled  in 
the  breakfast- room,  wlun'c  Mr.  Brough  read  prayers,  a  chapter, 
and  made  an  exhortation  afterwards,  to  us  and  all  the  members 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGG  ARTY  DIAMOND.  51 


of  the  household  ;  except  the  French  cook,  Monsieur  Nongtong- 
paw,  whom  I  could  see,  from  my  chair,  walking  about  in  the 
shrubberies  in  his  white  nightcap,  smoking  a  cigar. 

Ever}^  morning  on  week-daj-s,  punctuall}^  at  eight,  Mr. 
Brough  went  through  the  same  ceremony,  and  had  his  family 
to  praj'ers  ;  but  though  this  man  was  a  hypocrite,  as  I  found 
afterwards,  I'm  not  going  to  laugh  at  the  famil}^  prayers,  or 
sa}'  he  was  a  hypocrite  because  he  had  them.  There  are  many 
bad  and  good  men  who  don't  go  through  the  ceremony  at  all ; 
but  I  am  sure  the  good  men  would  be  the  better  for  it,  and  am 
not  called  upon  to  settle  the  question  with  respect  to  the  bad 
ones  ;  and  therefore  I  have  passed  over  a  great  deal  of  the  re- 
ligious part  of  Mr.  Brough's  behavior  :  suffice  it,  that  religion 
was  alwa3^s  on  his  lips  ;  that  he  went  to  church  thrice  every 
Sunda}^  when  he  had  not  a  party  ;  and  if  he  did  not  talk  re- 
ligion with  us  w^ien  we  were  alone,  had  a  great  deal  to  say  upon 
the  subject  upon  occasions,  as  I  found  one  day  when  we  had  a 
Quaker  and  Dissenter  party  to  dine,  and  when  his  talk  was  as 
grave  as  that  of  any  minister  present.  Tidd  was  not  there  that 
daj^  —  for  nothing  could  make  him  forsake  his  Byron  riband 
or  refrain  from  wearing  his  collars  turned  down  ;  so  Tidd  was 
sent  with  the  buggy  to  Astley's.  And  hark  ye,  Titmarsh  my 
bo}',"  said  he,  leave  your  diamond-pin  up  stairs  :  our  friends 
to-day  don't  like  such  gewgaws  ;  and  though  for  ni}^  part  I  am 
no  enemy  to  harmless  ornaments,  yet  I  would  not  shock  the 
feeling  of  those  who  have  sterner  opinions.  You  will  see  that 
my  wife  and  Miss  Brough  consult  my  wishes  in  this  respect." 
And  so  the}^  did,  —  for  the}^  both  came  down  to  dinner  in  black 
gowns  and  tippets  ;  whereas  Miss  B.  had  commonl}'  her  dress 
half  off  her  shoulders. 

The  captain  rode  over  several  times  to  see  us  ;  and  Miss 
Brough  seemed  alwaj^s  delighted  to  see  him.  One  da}^  I  met 
him  as  I  was  walking  out  alone  b}'  the  river,  and  we  had  a  long 
talk  together. 

Mr.  Titmarsh,"  says  he,  from  what  little  I  have  seen  of 
3'ou,  you  seem  to  be  an  honest  straight-minded  young  fellow ; 
and  I  want  some  information  that  3^ou  can  give.  Tell  me,  in 
the  first* place,  if  you  will  —  and  upon  m}'  honor  it  shall  go  no 
farther — about  this  Insurance  Compau}^  of  yours?  Y^ou  are 
in  the  city,  and  see  how  affairs  are  going  on.  Is  your  concern 
a  stable  one  ? " 

Sir,"  said  I,  frankly  then,  and  upon  my  honor  too,  I 
believe  it  is.  It  has  been  set  up  only  four  years,  it  is  true  ; 
but  Mr.  Brough  had  a  great  name  when  it  was  established,  and 


52  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


a  vast  connection.  Every  clerk  in  the  office  has,  to  be  sure,  in 
a  manner,  paid  for  his  place,  either  by  taking  shares  himself, 
or  by  his  relations  taking  them.  I  got  mine  because  my 
mother,  who  is  ver}^  poor,  devoted  a  small  sum  of  money  that 
came  to  us  to  the  purchase  of  an  annuity  for  herself  and  a 
provision  for  me.  The  matter  was  debated  by  the  family  and 
our  attorne^^s,  Messrs.  Hodge  and  Smithers,  who  are  yevy  well 
known  in  our  part  of  the  country  ;  and  it  was  agreed  on  all 
hands  that  my  mother  could  not  do  better  with  her  money  for 
all  of  us  than  invest  it  in  this  way.  Brough  alone  is  worth 
half  a  million  of  money,  and  his  name  is  a  host  in  itself.  Nay, 
more :  I  wrote  the  other  da}^  to  an  aunt  of  mine,  who  has  a 
considerable  sum  of  money  in  loose  cash,  and  who  had  con- 
sulted me  as  to  the  disposal  of  it,  to  invest  it  in  our  office. 
Can  I  give  you  any  better  proof  of  my  opinion  of  its  solvency  ? " 

Did  Brough  persuade  you  in  any  way?" 

Yes,  he  certainly  spoke  to  me  ;  but  he  verj^  honestlj^  told 
me  his  motives,  and  tells  them  to  us  all  as  honestly.  He  says, 
'  Gentlemen,  it  is  my  object  to  increase  the  connection  of  the 
office  as  much  as  possible.  I  want  to  crush  all  the  other  offices 
in  London.  Our  terms  are  lower  than  any  office,  and  we  can 
bear  to  have  them  lower,  and  a  great  business  will  come  to  us 
that  way.  But  we  must  work  ourselves  as  well.  Every  single 
shareholder  and  officer  of  the  establishment  must  exert  himself, 
and  bring  us  customers,  —  no  matter  for  how  little  they  are 
engaged  —  engage  them  :  that  is  the  great  point.'  And  accord- 
ingly our  director  makes  all  his  friends  and  servants  share- 
holders :  his  very  lodge-porter  yonder  is  a  shareholder  ;  and  he 
thus  endeavors  to  fasten  upon  all  whom  he  comes  near.  I, 
for  instance,  have  just  been  appointed  over  the  heads  of  our 
gents,  to  a  much  better  place  than  I  held.  I  am  asked  down 
here,  and  entertained  ro3'ally  ;  and  wh}  ?  Because  my  aunt  has 
three  thousand  pounds  which  Mr.  Brough  wants  her  to  invest 
with  us." 

''That  looks  awkward,  Mr.  Titmarsh." 

"Not  a  whit,  sir:  he  makes  no  disguise  of  the  matter. 
When  the  question  is  settled  one  wa^^  or  the  other,  I  don't 
believe  Mr.  Brough  will  take  any  further  notice  of  me.  But 
he  wants  me  now.  This  place  happened  to  fall  in  just  at  the 
ver}'  moment  when  he  had  need  of  me  ;  and  he  hopes  to  gain 
over  my  family  through  me.  He  told  me  as  much  as  we  drove 
down.  '  You  are  a  man  of  the  world,  Titmarsh,'  said  he  ; 
'  you  know  that  I  don't  give  you  tliis  i)lace  because  you  are  an 
honest  fellow,  and  write  a  good  hand.    Jf  I  liad  had  a  lesser 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  53 


bribe  to  offer  you  at  the  moment,  I  should  only  have  given  you 
that;  but  I  had  no  choice,  and  gave  you  what  was  in  my 
power.  " 

That's  fair  enough  ;  but  what  can  make  Brough  so  eager 
for  such  a  small  sum  as  three  thousand  pounds?" 

"  If  It  had  been  ten,  sir,  he  would  liave  been  not  a  bit  more 
eager.  You  don't  know  the  city  of  London,  and  the  passion 
which  our  great  men  in  the  share-market  have  for  increasing 
their  connection.  Mr.  Brough,  sir,  would  canvass  and  wheedle 
a  chimney-sweep  in  the  wa}^  of  business.  See,  here  is  poor 
Tidd  and  his  twenty  thousand  pounds.  Our  director  has  taken 
possession  of  him  just  in  the  same  way.  He  wants  all  the  cap- 
ital he  can  lay  his  hands  on." 

Yes,  and  suppose  he  runs  off  with  the  capital?" 
Mr.  Brough,  of  the  firm  of  Brough  and  Hoff,  sir?  Suppose 
the  Bank  of  England  runs  off !    But  here  we  are  at  the  lodge- 
gate.     Let's  ask  Gates,  another  of  Mr.  Brough's  victims." 
And  we  went  in  and  spoke  to  old  Gates. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Gates,"  says  I,  beginning  the  matter  cleverly, 
"  you  are  one  of  my  masters,  you  know,  at  the  West  Diddle- 
sex  3'onder  ?  " 

Yees,  sure,"  says  old  Gates,  grinning.  He  was  a  retired 
servant,  with  a  large  family  come  to  him  in  his  old  age. 

"  May  I  ask  3'ou  what  j^our  w^ages  are,  Mr.  Gates,  that  you 
can  lay  by  so  much  money,  and  purchase  shares  in  our  com- 
pany?" 

Gates  told  us  his  wages  ;  and  when  we  inquired  whether 
they  were  paid  regularl}^,  swore  that  his  master  w^as  the  kindest 
gentleman  in  the  world  ;  that  he  had  put  tw^o  of  his  daughters 
into  service,  two  of  his  sons  to  charity-schools,  made  one  ap- 
prentice, and  narrated  a  hundred  other  benefits  that  he  had 
received  from  the  family.  Mrs.  Brough  clothed  half  the  chil- 
dren ;  master  gave  them  blankets  and  coats  in  w^inter,  and  soup 
and  meat  all  the  3^ear  round.  There  never  was  such  a  generous 
family,  sure,  since  the  world  began. 

Well,  sir,"  said  I  to  the  captain,  "  does  that  satisfy  3'ou? 
Mr.  Brough  gives  to  these  people  fifty  times  as  much  as  he 
gains  from  them  ;  and  yet  he  makes  Mr.  Gates  take  shares  in 
our  company." 

"Mr.  Titmarsh,"  saj^s  the  captain,  "  3'ou  are  an  honest 
fellow  ;  and  I  confess  3^our  argument  sounds  well.  Xow^  tell 
me,  do  3'ou  know  an3^thing  about  Miss  Brough  and  her  for- 
tune?" 

''Brough  will  leave  her  everything  —  or  says  so."    But  I 


54  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMAKSH 


suppose  the  captain  saw  some  particular  expression  in  my 
countenance,  for  he  laughed  and  said,  — 

'^I  suppose,  m}'  dear  fellow,  3'ou  think  she's  dear  at  the 
price.    Well,  I  don't  know  that  you  are  far  wrong." 

''Why  then,  if  I  may  make  so  bold.  Captain  Fizgig,  are 
you  always  at  her  heels  ?  " 

Mr.  Titmarsh,"  sa3^s  the  captain,  I  owe  twenty  thousand 
pounds  ;  "  and  he  went  back  to  the  house  directly,  and  proposed 
for  her. 

I  thought  this  rather  cruel  and  unprincipled  conduct  on  the 
gentleman's  part ;  for  he  had  been  introduced  to  the  family 
by  Mr.  Tidd,  with  whom  he  had  been  at  school,  and  had  sup- 
planted Tidd  entirely  in  the  great  heiress's  affections.  B rough 
stormed,  and  actuallj-  swore  at  his  daughter  (as  the  captain 
told  me  afterwards) ,  when  he  heard  that  the  latter  had  accepted 
Mr.  Fizgig ;  and  at  last,  seeing  the  captain,  made  him  give  his 
word  that  the  engagement  should  be  kept  secret  for  a  few 
months.  And  Captain  F.  only  made  a  confidant  of  me,  and 
the  mess,  as  he  said  :  but  this  was  after  Tidd  had  paid  his 
twent}^  thousand  pounds  over  to  our  governor,  which  he  did 
punctuall}'  when  he  came  of  age.  The  same  da}^,  too,  he  pro- 
posed for  the  young  lady,  and  I  need  not  say  was  rejected. 
Presently  the  captain's  engagement  began  to  be  whispered 
about :  all  his  great  relations,  the  Duke  of  Doncaster,  the  Earl 
of  Cinqbars,  the  Earl  of  Crabs,  &c.,  came  and  visited  the 
Brough  famil}'  ;  the  Hon.  Henry  Ringwood  became  a  share- 
holder in  our  company,  and  the  Earl  of  Crabs  offered  to  be. 
Our  shares  rose  to  a  premium  ;  our  director,  his  lad}^  and 
daughter  were  presented  at  Court ;  and  the  great  West  Diddle- 
sex  Association  bid  fair  to  be  the  first  assurance  office  in  the 
kingdom. 

A  very  short  time  after  my  visit  to  Fulham,  my  dear  aunt 
wrote  to  me  to  say  that  she  had  consulted  with  her  attorneys, 
Messrs.  Hodge  and  Smithers,  who  strongly  recommended  that 
she  should  invest  the  sum  as  I  advised.  She  had  the  sum  in- 
vested, too,  in  my  name,  paying  me  many  compliments  upon 
my  honesty  and  talent;  of  which,  she  said,  Mr.  Brough  had 
given  her  the  most  flattering  account.  And  at  the  same  time 
my  aunt  informed  me  that  at  her  death  the  shares  sliould  be  m}" 
own.  This  gave  me  a  great  weight  in  the  company,  as  you 
may  imagine.  At  our  next  annual  meeting,  I  attended  in  m}- 
capacity  as  a  sharehokler,  and  had  great  pleasun^  in  hearing 
Mr.  Brougli,  in  a  magniflcent  speech,  declare  a  dividend  of  six 
per  cent,  that  we  all  received  over  the  counter. 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOK"D. 


55 


"You  kicky  young  scoundrel!"  said  Brough  to  me;  ''do 
you  know  what  made  me  give  you  your  place?  " 

"  Why,  my  aunt's  money,  to  be  sure,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  No  such  thing.  Do  you  fancy  I  cared  for  those  paltry 
three  thousand  pounds?  I  was  told  you  were  nephew  of  Lady- 
Drum  ;  and  Lady  Drum  is  grandmother  of  Lady  Jane  Preston  ; 
and  Mr.  Preston  is  a  man  who  can  do  us  a  world  of  good.  I 
knew  that  they  had  sent  you  venison,  and  the  deuce  knows 
what ;  and  when  I  saw  Lad}^  Jane  at  my  party  shake  3'ou  by 
the  hand,  and  speak  to  you  so  kindly,  I  took  all  Abednego's 
tales  for  gospel,  l^hat  was  the  reason  you  got  the  place,  mark 
you,  and  not  on  account  of  your  miserable  three  thousand 
pounds.  Well,  sir,  a  fortnight  after  you  was  with  us  at  Ful- 
ham,  I  met  Preston  in  the  House,  and  made  a  merit  of  having 
given  the  place  to  his  cousin.  '  Confound  the  insolent  scoun- 
drel ! '  said  he  ;  '-he  my  cousin  !  I  suppose  3^ou  take  all  old 
Drum's  stories  for  true?  Why,  man,  it's  her  mania  :  she  never 
is  introduced  to  a  man  but  she  finds  out  a  cousinship,  and 
would  not  fail  of  course  with  that  cur  of  a  Titmarsh  ! '  '  Well,' 
said  I,  laughing,  '  that  cur  has  got  a  good  place  in  consequence, 
and  the  matter  can't  be  mended.'  So  3'ou  see,"  continued  our 
director,  ''  that  you  were  indebted  for  your  place,  not  to  your 
aunt's  money,  but — " 

''  But  to  MY  aunt's  diamond-pin  !  " 

"  Lucky  rascal ! "  said  Brough,  poking  me  in  the  side  and 
going  out  of  the  way.    And  lucky,  in  faith,  I  thought  I  was. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

RELATES  THE  HAPPIEST  DAY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH's  LIFE. 

I  don't  know  how  it  was  that  in  the  course  of  the  next  six 
months  Mr.  Roundhand,  the  actuarj^,  who  had  been  such  a 
profound  admirer  of  Mr.  Brough  and  the  West  Diddlesex  Asso- 
ciation, suddenly  quarrelled  with  both,  and  taking  his  money 
out  of  the  concern,  he  disposed  of  his  5,000/.  worth  of  shares 
to  a  prett}^  good  profit,  and  went  away,  si)eaking  everything 
that  was  evil  both  of  the  company  and  the  director. 

Mr.  Highmore  now  became  secretarv  and  actuary,  Mr. 
Abednego  was  first   clerk,  and   3'our  humble  servant  was 


56  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


second  in  the  office  at  a  salary  of  200Z.  a  3^ear.  How  un- 
founded were  Mr.  Roundhand's  aspersions  of  the  West  Diddle- 
sex  appeared  quite  clearly  at  our  meeting  in  January,  1823, 
when  our  chief  director,  in  one  of  the  most  brilliant  speeches 
ever  heard,  declared  that  the  half-j^earl}^  dividend  was  4/.  per 
cent,  at  the  rate  of  8/.  per  cent  per  annum  ;  and  I  sent  to  my 
aunt  120/.  sterling  as  the  amount  of  the  interest  of  the  stock  in 
my  name. 

My  excellent  aunt,  Mrs.  Hoggart3%  dehghted  be3'ond  measure, 
sent  me  back  10/.  for  my  own  pocket,  and  asked  me  if  she  had 
not  better  seU  Slopperton  and  Squashtail,  and  invest  all  her 
money  in  this  admirable  concern. 

On  this  point  1  could  not  surel}^  do  better  than  ask  the 
opinion  of  Mr.  Brough.  Mr.  B.  told  me  that  shares  could  not 
be  had  but  at  a  premium ;  but  on  m^^  representing  that  I  knew 
of  5,000/.  worth  in  the  market  at  par,  he  said,  — Well,  if  so, 
he  would  like  a  fair  price  for  his,  and  would  not  mind  disposing 
of  5,000/.  worth,  as  he  had  rather  a  glut  of  West  Diddlesex 
shares,  and  his  other  concerns  wanted  feeding  with  ready 
mone}'."  At  the  end  of  our  conversation,  of  which  I  promised 
to  report  the  purport  to  Mrs.  Hoggart}',  the  dii'ector  was  so 
kind  as  to  say  that  he  had  determined  on  creating  a  place  of 
private  secretary  to  the  managing  director,  and  that  I  should 
hold  that  office  with  an  additional  salarj^  of  150/. 

1  had  250/.  a  year,  Miss  Smith  had  70/.  per  annum  to  her 
fortune.  What  had  1  said  should  be  my  line  of  conduct  when- 
ever I  could  realize  300/.  a  3^ear? 

Gus  of  course,  and  all  the  gents  in  our  office  through  him, 
knew  of  my  engagement  with  Mary  Smith.  Her  father  had 
been  a  commander  in  the  nav}^  and  a  ver}^  distinguished  officer  ; 
and  though  Mar}^  as  I  have  said,  onl>'  brought  me  a  fortune 
of  70/.  a  3'ear,  and  I,  as  everybodj^  said,  in  m\^  present  posi- 
tion in  the  office  and  the  city  of  London,  might  have  reasonabl}' 
looked  out  for  a  lady  with  much  more  money,  yet  m}'  friends 
agreed  that  the  connection  was  ver}^  respectable,  and  I  was 
content:  as  who  would  not  have  been  with  such  a  darling  as 
Mary?  I  am  sure,  for  m^'  part,  I  would  not  have  taken  the 
Lord  Mayor's  own  daughter  in  place  of  Mary,  even  with  a 
plum  to  her  fortune. 

Mr.  Brough  of  course  was  made  aware  of  my  approaching 
marriage,  as  of  everything  else  relating  to  every  clerk  in  the 
office  ;  and  I  do  believe  Abednego  told  him  what  we  had  for 
dinner  every  day.  Indeed,  his  knowledge  of  our  affairs  was 
wonderful. 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  57 


He  asked  me  how  Mary's  money  was  invested.  It  was  in 
the  three  per  cent  consols  —  2,333/.  6s.  Sd. 

Remember,"  says  he,  my  lad,  Mrs.  Sam  Titmarsh  that 
is  to  be  ma}^  have  seven  per  cent  for  her  money  at  the  very 
least,  and  on  better  security  than  the  Bank  of  England  ;  for  is 
not  a  Company  of  which  John  Brougli  is  the  head  better  than 
any  other  Company  in  England  ?  "  And  to  be  sure  I  thought 
he  was  not  far  wrong,  and  promised  to  speak  to  Marj  's  guar- 
dians on  the  subject  before  our  marriage.  Lieutenant  Smith, 
her  grandfather,  had  been  at  the  first  very  much  averse  to  our 
union.  (I  must  confess  that,  one  day  finding  me  alone  with 
her,  and  kissing,  I  believe,  the  tips  of  her  little  fingers,  he  had 
tal^en  me  by  the  collar  and  turned  me  out  of  doors.)  But  Sam 
Titmarsh,  with  a  salary  of  250/.  a  j  ear,  a  promised  fortune  of 
150/.  more,  and  the  right-hand  man  of  Mr.  John  Brough  of 
London,  was  a  very  different  man  from  Sam  the  poor  clerk, 
and  the  poor  clergyman's  widow's  son  ;  and  the  old  gentleman 
wrote  me  a  kind  letter  enough,  and  begged  me  to  get  him  six 
pairs  of  lamb's- wool  stockings  and  four  ditto  waistcoats  from 
Romanis',  and  accepted  them  too  as  a  present  from  me  when 
I  went  down  in  June  —  in  happy  June  of  1823 — to  fetch  my 
dear  Mar}'  awa}^ 

Mr.  Brough  was  likewise  kindly  anxious  about  my  aunt's 
Slopperton  and  Squashtail  property,  which  she  had  not  as  yet 
sold,  as  she  talked  of  doing;  and,  as  Mr.  B.  represented,  it 
was  a  sin  and  a  shame  that  any  person  in  whom  he  took  such 
interest,  as  be  did  in  all  the  relatives  of  his  dear  young  friend, 
should  only  have  three  per  cent  for  her  money,  when  she  could 
have  eight  elsewhere.  He  always  called  me  Sam  now,  praised 
me  to  the  other  young  men  (who  brought  the  praises  regularly 
to  me),  said  there  was  a  cover  alwaj^s  laid  for  me  at  Fulham, 
and  repeatedly  took  me  thither.  There  was  but  little  company 
when  I  went ;  and  M'Whirter  used  to  say  he  only  asked  me  on 
days  when  he  had  his  vulgar  acquaintances.  But  I  did  not 
care  for  the  great  people,  not  being  born  in  their  sphere  ;  and 
indeed  did  not  much  care  for  going  to  the  house  at  all.  Miss 
Belinda  was  not  at  all  to  my  liking.  After  her  engagement 
with  Captain  Fizgig,  and  after  Mr.  Tidd  had  paid  his  20,000/. 
and  Fizgig's  great  relations  had  joined  in  some  of  our  director's 
companies,  Mr.  Brough  declared  he  believed  that  Captain  Fiz- 
gig's views  were  mercenary,  and  put  him  to  the  proof  at  once, 
by  saying  that  he  must  take  Miss  Brough  without  a  farthing, 
or  not  have  her  at  all.  Whereupon  Captain  Fizgig  got  an  ap- 
pointment in  the  colonies,  and  Miss  Brough  became  more  ill- 


58  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


humored  than  ever.  But  I  could  not  help  thinking  she  was  rid 
of  a  bad  bargain,  and  pitying  poor  Tidd,  who  came  back  to  the 
charge  again  more  love-sick  than  ever,  and  was  rebuffed  piti- 
lessly by  Miss  Belinda.  Her  father  plainl}^  told  Tidd,  too,  that 
his  visits  were  disagreeable  to  Belinda,  and  though  he  must 
always  love  and  value  him,  he  begged  him  to  discontinue  his 
calls  at  the  Rookery.  Poor  fellow !  he  had  paid  his  20,000/. 
away  for  nothing  !  for  what  was  six  per  cent  to  him  compared 
to  six  per  cent  and  the  hand  of  Miss  Belinda  Brough  ? 

Well,  Mr.  Brough  pitied  the  poor  love-sick  swain,  as  he 
called  me,  so  much,  and  felt  such  a  warm  sympatic  in  m}^  well- 
being,  that  he  insisted  on  m}'  going  down  to  Somersetshire  with 
a  couple  of  months'  leave :  and  away  I  went,  as  happ}^  as  a 
lark,  with  a  couple  of  bran-new  suits  from  Von  Stiltz's  in  my 
trunk  (I  had  them  made,  looking  forward  to  a  certain  event), 
and  inside  the  trunk  Lieutenant  Smith's  fleec}'  hosier}' ;  wrap- 
ping up  a  parcel  of  our  prospectuses  and  two  letters  from  eJohn 
Brough,  Esq.,  to  my  mother  our  worthy  annuitant,  and  to  Mrs. 
Hoggarty  our  excellent  shareholder.  Mr.  Brough  said  I  was 
all  that  the  fondest  father  could  wish,  that  he  considered  me  as 
his  own  boy,  and  that  he  earnestly  begged  Mrs.  Hoggarty  not 
to  delay  the  sale  of  her  little  landed  property,  as  land  was  high 
now  and  must  fall ;  whereas  the  West  Diddlesex  Association 
shares  were  (comparatively)  low,  and  must  inevitably,  in  the 
course  of  a  year  or  two,  double,  treble,  quadruple  their  present 
value. 

In  this  way  I  was  prepared,  and  in  this  wa}'  I  took  leave  of 
my  dear  Gus.  As  we  parted  in  the  yard  of  the  Bolt-in-Tun, 
Fleet  Street,  I  felt  that  I  never  should  go  back  to  SaUsbury 
Square  again,  and  had  made  my  little  present  to  the  landlady's 
family  accordingly.  She  said  I  was  the  respectablest  gentle- 
man she  had  ever  had  in  her  house  :  nor  was  that  saying  much, 
for  Bell  Lane  is  in  the  rules  of  the  Fleet,  and  her  lodgers  used 
commonly  to  be  prisoners  on  Rule  from  that  place.  As  for 
Gus,  the  poor  fellow  cried  and  blubbered  so  that  he  could  not 
eat  a  morsel  of  the  muffins  and  grilled  ham  with  which  I  treated 
him  for  breakfast  in  the  Bolt-in-Tun  coffee-house  ;  and  when  I 
went  away  was  waving  his  hat  and  his  handkerchief  so  in  the 
archway  of  the  coach-office,  that  I  do  believe  the  wheels  of  the 
True  lilue  went  over  his  toes,  for  I  heard  him  roaring  as  we 
passed  througli  the  arch.  Ah  !  how  different  were  my  feelings 
as  I  sat  i)rou(lly  th(?re  on  the  box  by  tlie  side  of  Jim  Ward,  the 
coachman,  to  those  I  had  the  last  time  I  mounted  that  coach, 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  59 


parting  from  m}^  dear  Mary  and  coming  to  London  with  m}^ 

DIAMOND-PIN  ! 

When  arrived  near  home  (at  Grumpley,  three  miles  from  our 
village,  where  the  True  Blue  generally  stops  to  take  a  glass  of 
ale  at  the  Poppleton  Arms)  it  was  as  if  our  Member,  Mr.  Pop- 
pleton  himself,  was  come*  into  the  countr}^,  so.  great  was  the 
concourse  of  people  assembled  round  the  inn.  And  there  was 
the  landlord  of  the  inn  and  all  the  people  of  the  village.  Then 
there  was  Tom  Wheeler,  the  post-boy,  from  Mrs.  Ilincer's  post- 
ing-hotel in  our  town  ;  he  was  riding  on  the  old  ba}^  posters, 
and  the}^,  heaven  bless  us  !  were  drawing  my  aunt's  3'ellow 
chariot,  in  which  she  never  went  out  but  thrice  in  a  3'ear,  and 
in  which  she  now  sat  in  her  splendid  cashmere  shawl  and  a  new 
hat  and  feather.  She  waved  a  white  handkerchief  out  of  the 
window,  and  Tom  Wheeler  shouted  out  ''Huzza!"  as  did  a 
number  of  the  little  blackguard  boys  of  Grumple}' :  who,  to  be 
sure,  would  huzza  for  anything.  What  a  change  on  Tom 
Wheeler's  part,  however  !  I  remembered  onl}'  a  few  3'ears  be- 
fore how  he  had  whipped  me  from  the  box  of  the  chaise,  as  I 
was  hanging  on  for  a  ride  behind. 

Next  to  m}'  aunt's  carriage  came  the  four-wheeled  chaise  of 
Lieutenant  Smith,  R.N.,  who  was  driving  his  old  fat  ponj'  with 
his  lad}^  b}^  his  side.  I  looked  in  the  back  seat  of  the  chaise, 
and  felt  a  little  sad  at  seeing  that  Somebody  was  not  there. 
But,  O  silly  fellow  !  there  was  Somebody  in  the  j^ellow  chariot 
with  my  aunt,  blushing  like  a  peony,  I  declare,  and  looking  so 
happy! — oh,  so  happy  and  pretty!  She  had  a  white  dress, 
and  a  light  blue  and  yellow  scarf,  which  my  aunt  said  were  the 
Hoggart}'  colors  ;  though  what  the  Hoggarties  had  to  do  with 
light  blue  and  yellow,  I  don't  know  to  this  day. 

Well,  the  True  Blue  guard  made  a  great  bellowing  on  his 
horn  as  his  four  horses  dashed  away  ;  the  ho\^  shouted  again  ; 
I  was  placed  bodkin  between  Mrs.  Hoggarty  and  Mary  ;  Tom 
Wheeler  cut  into  his  ba^^s  ;  the  lieutenant  (who  had  shaken  me 
cordiall}'  by  the  hand,  and  whose  big  dog  did  not  make  the 
slightest  attempt  at  biting  me  this  time)  beat  his  pony  till  its 
fat  sides  lathered  again  ;  and  thus  in  this,  I  may  say,  unex- 
ampled procession,  I  arrived  in  triumph  at  our  village. 

My  dear  mother  and  the  girls,  — heaven  bless  them  !  —  nine 
of  them  in  their  nankeen  spencers  (I  had  something  prett}'  in 
my  trunk  for  each  of  them)  —  could  not  afford  a  carriage,  but 
had  posted  themselves  on  the  road  near  the  village  ;  and  there 
was  such  a  waving  of  hands  and  handkerchiefs  :  and  though  m}' 
aunt  did  not  much  notice  them,  except  by  a  majestic  toss  of 


60  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


the  head,  which  is  pardonable  in  a  woman  of  her  property,  yet 
Mary  Smith  did  even  more  than  I,  and  waved  her  hands  as 
much  as  the  whole  nine.  Ah  !  how  m}'  dear  mother  cried  and 
blessed  me  when  we  met,  and  called  me  her  soul's  comfort  and 
her  darling  bo}',  and  looked  at  me  as  if  1  were  a  paragon  of 
virtue  and  genius  :  whereas  I  was  only  a  ver}"  lucky  young 
fellow,  that  b}'  the  aid  of  kind  friends  had  stepped  rapidly  into 
a  very  pretty  property. 

I  was  not  to  stay  with  m}"  mother,  —  that  had  been  arranged 
beforehand  ;  for  though  she  and  Mrs.  Hoggart}^  were  not  re- 
markabl}^  good  friends,  3^et  mother  said  it  was  for  my  benefit 
that  I  should  stay  with  my  aunt,  and  so  gave  up  the  pleasure  of 
having  me  with  her :  and  though  hers  was  much  the  humbler 
house  of  the  two,  I  need  not  say  I  preferred  it  far  to  Mrs. 
Hoggartj-'s  more  splendid  one  ;  let  alone  the  horrible  Rosolio, 
of  which  I  was  obliged  now  to  drink  gallons. 

It  wjr.s  to  Mrs.  H.'s  then  we  were  driven  ;  she  had  prepared 
a  great'dinner  that  evening,  and  hired  an  extra  waiter,  and  on 
getting  out  of  the  carriage,  she  gave  a  sixpence  to  Tom  Wheeler, 
saying  that  was  for  himself,  and  that  she  would  settle  with 
Mrs.  Rincer  for  the  horses  afterwards.  At  which  Tom  flung 
the  sixpence  upon  the  ground,  swore  most  violentl3\  and  was 
very  justl}'  called  by  my  aunt  an     impertinent  fellow." 

She  had  taken  such  a  liking  to  me  that  she  would  hardly 
bear  me  out  of  her  sight.  We  used  to  sit  for  morning  after 
morning  over  her  accounts,  debating  for  hours  together  the 
propriety  of  selling  the  Slopperton  property  ;  but  no  arrange- 
ment was  come  to  yet  about  it,  for  Plodge  and  Smithers  could 
not  get  the  price  she  wanted.  And,  moreover,  she  vowed  that 
at  her  decease  she  would  leave  every  shilling  to  me. 

Hodge  and  Smithers,  too,  gave  a  grand  part}^  and  treated 
me  with  marked  consideration  ;  as  did  every  single  person  of 
the  village.  Those  who  could  not  afford  to  give  dinners  gave 
teas,  and  all  drank  the  health  of  the  3'oung  couple  ;  and  many 
a  time  after  dinner  or  supper  was  my  Mary  made  to  blush  by 
the  allusions  to  the  change  in  her  condition. 

The  happy  day  for  that  ceremony  was  now  fixed,  and  the 
24th  July,  1823,  saw  me  the  happiest  husband  of  the  prettiest 
girl  in  Somersetshire.  We  were  married  from  m}^  mother's 
house,  who  would  insist  upon  that  at  any  rate,  and  the  nine 
girls  acted  as  bridesmaids  ;  ay  !  and  Gus  Hoskins  came  from 
town  express  to  be  m}^  groomsman,  and  had  m}^  old  room  at 
my  mother's,  and  stayed  with  her  for  a  week,  and  cast  a 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGG  ARTY  DIAMOND.  61 


sheop's-e3^e  upon  Miss  Winny  Titmarsh  too,  my  dear  fourth 
sister,  as  I  afterwards  learned. 

My  aunt  was  very  kind  upon  the  marriage  ceremony,  indeed. 
She  iiad  desired  me  some  weeks  previous  to  order  tln^ee  mag- 
nificent dresses  for  Mary  from  the  celebrated  Madame  Mantalini 
of  London,  and  some  elegant  trinkets  and  embroidered  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  from  Howell  and  James's.  These  were  sent  down 
to  me,  and  were  to  be  my  present  to  the  bride  ;  but  Mrs.  Hog- 
gart}^  gave  me  to  understand  that  I  need  never  trouble  myself 
about  the  payment  of  the  bill,  and  I  thought  her  conduct  very 
generous.  Also  she  lent  us  her  chariot  for  the  wedding-journey, 
and  made  with  her  own  hands  a  beautiful  crimson  satin  reticule 
for  Mrs.  Samuel  Titmarsh,  her  dear  niece.  It  contained  a 
huswife  completel}^  furnished  with  needles,  &c.,  for  she  hoped 
Mrs.  Titmarsh  w^ould  never  neglect  her  needle  ;  and  a  purse 
containing  some  silver  pennies,  and  a  very  curious  pocket- 
piece.  As  long  as  3^ou  keep  these,  m}^  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hog- 
gart}',  "  3'ou  will  never  want;  and  fervently  —  fervently  do  I 
pray  that  3'ou  will  keep  them."  In  the  carriage-pocket  we 
found  a  paper  of  biscuits  and  a  bottle  of  Rosolio.  We  laughed 
at  this,  and  made  it  over  to  Tom  Wheeler  —  who,  however,  did 
not  seem  to  like  it  much  better  than  we. 

'  I  need  not  sa}^  I  was  married  in  Mr.  Von  Stiltz's  coat  (the 
third  and  fourth  coats,  heaven  help  us  !  in  a  3'ear),  and  that  I 
wore  sparkling  in  my  bosom  the  great  hoggarty  diamond. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BRINGS  BACK  SAM,  HIS  WIFE,   AUNT,   AND  DIAMOND  TO 
LONDON. 

We  pleased  ourselves  during  the  honeymoon  with  forming 
plans  for  our  life  in  London,  and  a  pretty  paradise  did  we  build 
for  ourselves  !  Well,  we  were  but  fort}'  j  ears  old  between  us  ; 
and,  for  m}'  part,  I  never  found  an}'  harm  come  of  castle-build- 
ing, but  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 

Before  I  left  London  I  had,  to  say  the  truth,  looked  round 
me  for  a  proper  place,  befitting  persons  of  our  small  income  ; 
and  Gus  Hoskins  and  I,  who  hunted  after  office-hours  in 
couples,  had  fixed  on  a  very  snug  little  cottage  in  Camden 


62  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


Town,  where  there  was  a  garden  that  certain  small  people  might 
play  in  when  the}"  came  :  a  horse  and  gig-house,  if  ever  we 
kept  one,  —  and  why  not,  in  a  few  years?  —  and  a  fine  healthy 
air,  at  a  reasonable  distance  from  'Change  ;  all  for  30/.  a  year. 
I  had  described  this  little  spot  to  Mar}'  as  enthusiastically  as 
Sancho  describes  Lizias  to  Don  Quixote  ;  and  my  dear  wife  was 
delighted  with  the  prospect  of  housekeeping  there,  vowed  she 
w^ould  cook  all  the  best  dishes  herself  (especialk  jam-pudding, 
of  which  I  confess  I  am  very  fond),  and  promised  Gus  that  lie 
should  dine  with  us  at  Clematis  Bower  ever}'  Sunday :  only  he 
must  not  smoke  those  horrid  cigars.  As  for  Gus,  he  vowed 
he  would  have  a  room  in  the  neighborhood  too,  for  he  could  not 
bear  to  go  back  to  Bell  Lane,  where  we  two  had  been  so  happy 
together ;  and  so  good-natured  Mary  said  she  would  ask  my  sis- 
ter Winny  to  come  and  keep  her  company.  At  which  Hoskins 
blushed,  and  said,  '^Pooli!  nonsense  now." 

But  nil  our  hopes  of  a  happy,  snug  Clematis  Lodge  w^ere 
dashed  to  the  ground  on  our  return  from  our  little  honeymoon 
excursion  ;  when  Mrs.  Hoggarty  informed  us  that  she  was  sick 
of  the  country,  and  was  determined  to  go  to  London  with  her 
dear  nephew  and  niece,  and  keep  house  for  them,  and  introduce 
them  to  her  friends  in  the  metropolis. 

What  could  we  do?  AVe  wished  her  at  —  Bath,  certainly 
not  in  London.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it;  and  we  were 
obliged  to  bring  her :  for,  as  my  mother  said,  if  we  offended 
her,  her  fortune  would  go  out  of  our  family  ;  and  were  we  two 
young  people  not  likely  to  want  it? 

So  we  came  to  town  rather  dismally  in  the  carriage,  post- 
ing the  whole  way :  for  the  carriage  must  be  brought,  and  a 
person  of  my  aunt's  rank  in  life  could  not  travel  by  the  stage. 
And  I  had  to  pay  14/.  for  the  posters,  which  pretty  nearly  ex- 
hausted all  my  little  hoard  of  cash. 

First  we  went  into  lodgings  —  into  three  sets  in  three  weeks. 
We  quarrelled  with  the  first  landlady,  because  my  aunt  vowed 
that  she  cut  a  slice  off  the  leg  of  mutton  which  was  served  for  our 
dinner  ;  from  the  second  lodgings  we  went  because  aunt  vowed 
the  maid  would  steal  the  candles  ;  from  the  third  we  went  be- 
cause aunt  Hoggarty  came  down  to  breakfast  the  morning  after 
our  arrival  with  her  face  shockingly  swelled  and  bitten  by  — 
never  mind  what.  To  cut  a  long  tale  short,  I  was  half  mad 
with  the  continual  choppings  and  changings,  and  the  long 
stories  and  scoldings  of  my  aunt.  As  for  her  great  acquaint- 
ances, none  of  them  were  in  London  ;  and  she  made  it  a  mat- 
ter of  quarrel  with  me  that  I  had  not  introduced  her  to  John 


AND  THE  GREAT  llOGGAUTY  DIAMOND.  63 


BroLigh,  Esquire,  M.P.,  and  to  Lord  and  Lady  Tiptoff  her 
relatives. 

Mr.  Brough  was  at  Brighton  when  we  arrived  in  town  ;  and 
on  his  return  I  did  not  care  at  first  to  tell  our  director  that  I  had 
brought  m}'  aunt  with  me,  or  mention  my  embarrassments  for 
money.  He  looked  rather  serious  when  perforce  I  spoke  of  the 
latter  to  him  and  asked  for  an  advance  ;  but  when  he  heard 
that  my  lack  of  mone}^  had  been  occasioned  by  the  bringing 
of  my  aunt  to  London,  his  tone  instantl}'  changed.  That,  m}' 
dear  boy,  alters  the  question ;  Mrs.  Hoggarty  is  of  an  age 
when  all  things  must  be  yielded  to  her.  Here  are  a  hundred 
pounds  ;  and  I  beg  you  to  draw  upon  me  whenever  you  are 
in  the  least  in  want  of  money."  This  gave  me  breathing-time 
until  she  should  pay  her  share  of  the  household  expenses.  And 
the  very  next  da}'  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Brough,  in  their  splendid 
carriage-and-four,  called  upon  Mrs.  Hoggarty  and  my  wife  at 
our  lodgings  in  Lamb's  Conduit  Street. 

It  was  on  the  verj^  day  when  my  poor  aunt  appeared  with 
her  face  in  that  sad  condition  ;  and  she  did  not  fail  to  inform 
Mrs.  Brough  of  the  cause,  and  to  state  that  at  Castle  Hoggart}^ 
or  at  her  country  place  in  Somersetshire,  she  had  never  heard 
or  thought  of  such  vile,  odious  things. 

"Gracious  heavens!"  shouted  John  Brough,  Esquire,  "  a 
lady  of  your  rank  to  suffer  in  this  w^ay  !  —  the  excellent  relative 
of  my  dear  boy,  Titmarsh  !  Never,  madam  —  never  let  it  be 
said  that  Mrs.  Hoggarty  of  Castle  Hoggarty  should  be  subject 
to  such  horrible  humiliation,  while  John  Brough  has  a  home  to 
offer  her,  —  a  humble,  happy,  Christian  home,  madam  ;  though 
unlike,  perhaps,  the  splendor  to  which  3'ou  have  been  accus- 
tomed in  the  course  of  3'our  distinguished  career.  Isabella  m}' 
love  I  — Belinda  !  speak  to  Mrs.  Hoggart3\  Tell  her  that  John 
Brough's  house  is  hers  from  garret  to  cellar.  I  repeat  it, 
madam,  from  garret  to  cellar.  I  desire  —  I  insist  —  I  order, 
that  Mrs.  Hoggarty  of  Castle  Iloggarty's  trunks  should  be 
placed  this  instant  in  my  carriage !  Have  the  goodness 
to  look  to  them  yourself,  Mrs.  Titmarsh,  and  see  that  3'our 
dear  aunt's  comforts  are  better  provided  for  than  they  have 
been." 

Marj'  went  away  rather  wondering  at  this  order.  But,  to 
be  sure,  Mr.  Brough  was  a  great  man,  and  her  Samuel's  bene- 
factor ;  and  though  the  sill}'  child  absolutely'  began  to  cry  as 
she  packed  and  toiled  at  aunt's  enormous  valises,  3'et  she  per- 
formed the  work,  and  came  down  with  a  smiling  face  to  mv 
aunt,  who  was  entertaining  jNIr.  and  Mrs.  Brough  with  a  long 


64  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


and  particular  account  of  the  balls  at  the  Castle,  in  Dublin,  in 
Lord  Charleville's  time. 

''I  have  packed  the  trunks,  aunt,  but  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  bring  them  down,"  said  Mar3\ 

'^Certainly  not,  certainly  not,"  said  John  Brough,  perhaps 
a  little  ashamed.  Hallo  1  George,  Frederic,  Augustus,  come 
up  stairs  this  instant,  and  bring  down  the  trunks  of  Mrs.  Hog- 
gart}'  of  Castle  Hoggarty,  which  this  ^'oung  lady  will  show 
you." 

Nay,  so  great  was  Mr.  Brough's  condescension,  that  when 
some  of  his  fashionable  servants  refused  to  meddle  with  the 
trunks,  he  himself  seized  a  pair  of  them  with  both  hands,  car- 
ried them  to  the  carriage,  and  shouted  loud  enough  for  all 
Lamb's  Conduit  Street  to  hear,  John  Brough  is  not  proud  — 
no,  no  ;  and  if  his  footmen  are  too  high  and  mighty,  he'll  show 
them  a  lesson  of  humility." 

Mrs.  Brough  was  for  running  down  stairs  too,  and  taking  the 
trunks  from  her  husband  ;  but  the}^  were  too  heavy  for  her,  so 
she  contented  herself  with  sitting  on  one,  and  asking  all  per- 
sons who  passed  her,  whether  John  Brough  was  not  an  angel 
of  a  man  ? 

In  this  way  it  was  that  my  aunt  left  us.  I  was  not  aware  of 
her  departure,  for  I  was  at  the  office  at  the  time  ;  and  strolhng 
back  at  five  with  Gus,  saw  my  dear  Mary  smiling  and  bobbing 
from  the  window,  and  beckoning  to  us  both  to  come  up.  This 
I  thought  was  very  strange,  because  Mrs.  Hoggarty  could  not 
abide  Hoskins,  and  indeed  had  told  me  repeatedly  that  either 
she  or  he  must  quit  the  house.  Well,  we  went  up  stairs,  and 
there  was  Mary,  who  had  dried  her  tears  and  received  us  with 
the  most  smiling  of  faces,  and  laughed  and  clapped  her  liands, 
and  danced,  and  shook  Gus's  hand.  And  what  do  you  tliink 
the  little  rogue  proposed?  I  am  blest  if  she  did  not  say  she 
would  Hke  to  go  to  Vauxhall ! 

As  dinner  was  laid  for  three  persons  only,  Gus  took  his 
seat  with  fear  and  trembling ;  and  then  Mrs.  Sam  Titmarsh 
related  the  circumstances  which  had  occurred,  and  how  Mrs. 
Hoggarty  had  been  whisked  away  to  Fulham  in  Mr.  Brough's 
splendid  carriage-and-four.  Let  her  go,"  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
said  I ;  and  indeed  we  relished  our  veal-cutlets  and  jam-i)udding 
a  great  deal  more  than  Mrs.  Hoggarty  did  her  dinner  off  plate 
at  the  Rooker}' . 

W(;  had  a  very  merry  party  to  Vauxhall,  Gus  insisting  on 
standiijg  treat ;  and  you  may  be  certain  that  my  aunt,  w^hose 
absence  was  prolonged  for  three  weeks,  was  heartily  welcome 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 


65 


to  remain  awa}^  for  we  were  much  merrier  and  more  comfort- 
able witliout  her.  My  little  Mary  used  to  make  my  breakfast 
before  I  went  to  office  of  mornings  ;  and  on  Sundays  we  had 
a  holiday,  and  saw  the  dear  little  children  eat  their  boiled 
beef  and  potatoes  at  the  Foundling,  and  heard  the  beautiful 
music :  but,  beautiful  as  it  is,  I  think  the  children  were  a 
more  beautiful  sight  still,  and  the  look  of  their  innocent  happy 
faces  was  better  than  the  best  sermon.  On  week-days  Mrs. 
Titmarsh  would  take  a  walk  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
on  the  left'hsind  side  of  Lamb's  Conduit  Street  (as  you  go  to 
Ilolborn)  —  a}^,  and  sometimes  pursue  her  walk  as  far  as  Snow 
Hill,  when  two  3^oung  gents  from  the  I.  W.  D.  Fire  and  Life 
were  pretty  sure  to  meet  her ;  and  then  how  happily  we  all 
trudged  off  to  dinner !  Once  we  came  up  as  a  monster  of  a 
man,  with  high  heels  and  a  gold-headed  cane,  and  whiskers  all 
over  his  face,  was  grinning  under  Mary's  bonnet,  and  chatter- 
ing to  her,  close  to  Day  and  Martin's  Blacking  Manufactory 
(not  near  such  a  handsome  thing  then  as  it  is  now)  — there 
was  the  man  chattering  and  ogling  his  best,  when  who  should 
come  up  but  Gus  and  I?  And  in  the  twinkling  of  a  pegpost, 
as  Lord  Duberle}^  says,  my  gentleman  was  seized  by  the  collar 
of  his  coat  and  found  himself  sprawling  under  a  stand  of 
hackney-coaches  ;  where  all  the  watermen  were  grinning  at  him. 
The  best  of  it  was,  he  left  his  head  of  hair  and  ivhiskers  in  my 
hand  :  but  Mar}'  said,  Don't  be  hard  upon  him,  Samuel ;  it's 
onl}'  a  Frenchman."  And  so  we  gave  him  his  wig  back,  which 
one  of  the  grinning  stable-boys  put  on  and  carried  to  him  as  he 
lay  in  the  straw. 

He  shrieked  out  something  about arretez,"  and  "  Fran^ais," 
and  champ-d'honneur ; "  but  we  walked  on,  Gus  putting  his 
thumb  to  his  nose  and  stretching  out  his  finger  at  Master 
Frenchman.  This  made  everybody'  laugh  ;  and  so  the  adven- 
ture ended.. 

About  ten  daj^s  after  my  aunt's  departure  came  a  letter 
from  her,  of  which  I  give  a  copy  :  — 

**  My  dear  Nephew,  —  It  was  my  earnest  wish  e'er  this  to  have  re- 
turned to  London,  where  I  am  sure  you  and  my  niece  Titmarsh  miss  me 
very  much,  and  where  she,  poor  thing,  quite  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of 
'  the  great  metropulus,'  in  aconamy,  and  indeed  in  every  qiiahity  requasit 
in  a  good  wife  and  the  mistress  of  a  famaly,  can  hardly  manidge,  I  am 
sure,  without  me. 

"  Tell  her  oti  no  account  to  pay  more  than  Q^d.  for  the  prime  pieces,  4.^g?. 
for  soup  meat ;  and  that  the  very  best  of  London  butter  is  to  be  had  for 
8^c?. ;  of  course,  for  pudns  and  the  kitchin  you'll  employ  a  commoner  sort. 
My  trunks  were  sadly  packed  by  Mrs.  Titmarsh,  and  the  hasp  of  the  port- 


66 


THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUP:L  TITMARSH 


mantyou-lock  has  gone  through  my  yellow  satn.  I  have  darned  it,  and 
woar  it  already  twice,  at  two  ellygant  (though  quiat)  evening-parties  given 
by  my  hospatable  host;  and  my  pegreen  velvet  on  Saturday  at  a  grand 
dinner,  when  Lord  Scaramouch  handed  me  to  table.  Everything  was  in 
the  most  sumptions  sttj'ie.  Soup  top  and  bottom  (white  and  brown),  removed 
by  turbit  and  sammon  with  immense  holes  of  lohster-saace.  Lobsters  alone 
cost  15s.  Turbit,  three  guineas.  The  hole  sanmion,  weighing,  I'm  sure, 
15  lbs.,  and  never  seen  at  table  again ;  not  a  bitt  of  pickled  sammon  the  hole 
weak  afterwards.  This  kind  of  extravigance  would  just  suit  Mrs.  Sam 
Titmarsh,  who,  as  I  always  say,  burns  the  candle  at  both  ends.  Well,  young 
people,  it  is  lucky  for  you  you  have  an  old  aunt  who  knows  better,  and 
has  a  long  purse :  without  witch,  I  dare  say,  some  folks  would  be  glad  to 
see  her  out  of  doors.  I  don't  mean  you,  Samuel,  who  have,  I  must  say, 
been  a  dutiful  nephew  to  me.  Well,  I  dare  say  I  shan't  live  long,  and 
some  folks  won't  be  sorry  to  have  me  in  my  grave. 

"  Indeed,  on  Sunday  I  was  taken  in  my  stomick  very  ill,  and  thought  it 
might  have  been  the  lobster-sauce :  but  Doctor  Blogg,  who  was  called  in, 
said  it  was,  he  very  much  feared,  cumsumptive ;  but  gave  me  some  pills  and 
a  draft  w*"  made  me  better.  Please  call  upon  him  —  he  lives  at  Pimlico, 
and  you  can  walk  out  there  after  office  hours  —  and  present  him  with 
1/.  Is.,  with  my  compliments.  I  have  no  money  here  but  a  10^.  note,  the 
rest  being  locked  up  in  my  box  at  Lamb's  Cundit  Street. 

"  Although  the  flesh  is  not  neglected  in  Mr.  B.'s  sumptions  establish- 
ment, I  can  assure  you  the  sperrit  is  likewise  cared  for.  Mr.  B.  reads  and 
igspounds  every  morning ;  and  o  but  his  exorcises  refresh  the  hungry  sole 
before  breakfast !  Everything  is  in  the  handsomest  style,  —  silver  and 
goold  plate  at  breakfast,  lunch,  and  dinner;  and  his  crest  and  motty,  a 
behive,  with  the  Latn  word  Industria,  meaning  industry,  on  everything  — 
even  on  the  chany  juggs  and  things  in  my  beddroom.  On  Sunday  we 
were  favored  by  a  special  outpouring  from  the  Rev.  Grimes  Wapshot,  of 
the  Amabaptist  Congrigation  here,  and  who  egshorted  for  3  hours  in  the 
afternoon  in  Mr.  B.'s  private  chapel.  As  the  widow  of  a  Hoggarty,  I 
have  always  been  a  staunch  supporter  of  the  established  Church  of  Eng- 
land and  Ireland;  but  I  must  say  Mr.  Wapshot's  stirring  way  was  far 
superior  to  that  of  the  Rev.  Bland  Blenkinsop  of  the  Establishment,  who 
lifted  up  his  voice  after  dinner  for  a  short  discourse  of  two  hours. 

"  Mrs.  Brough  is,  between  ourselves,  a  poor  creature,  and  has  no  sperrit 
of  her  own.  As  for  Miss  B.,  she  is  so  saucy  that  once  I  promised  to  box  her 
years ;  and  would  have  left  the  house,  had  not  Mr.  B.  taken  my  part,  and 
Miss  made  me  a  suitable  apology. 

"I  don't  know  when  I  sliall  return  to  town,  being  made  really  so  wel- 
come here.  Doctor  Blogg  says  the  air  of  Eulham  is  the  best' in  the  world 
for  my  simtums ;  and  as  the  ladies  of  the  house  do  not  choose  to  walk  out 
with  me,  the  Rev.  Grimes  Wapshot  has  often  been  kind  enough  to  lend  me 
liis  arm,  and  'tis  sweet  with  such  a  guide  to  wander  both  to  Putney  and 
Waddswortli,  and  igsamin  the  wonderful  works  of  nature.  I  have  spoke  to 
him  about  the  Slopperton  property,  and  he  is  not  of  Mr.  B.'s  opinion  that 
I  should  sell  it;  but  on  this  point  I  shall  follow  my  own  counsel. 

"Meantime  you  must  gett  into  more  comfortable  lodgings,  and  lett  my 
bedd  be  warmed  every  night,  and  of  rainy  days  have  a  fire  in  the  grate; 
and  let  Mrs.  Titmarsh  look  up  my  blue  silk  dress,  nnd  turn  it  against  I 
come;  and  th(;re  is  my  f)urple  spencer  she  can  have  for  herself ;  and  I  hope 
she  does  not  wear  those  three  s[)lendid  gowns  you  gave  her,  but  keep  them 
until  belter  times.  I  shall  soon  introduse  her  to  my  friend  Mr.  Brough,  and 
others  of  my  acquaintances;  and  am  always  Your  loving  Aunt. 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGAllTY  DIAMOND.  67 


"I  have  ordered  a  chest  of  the  Tlosolio  to  be  sent  from  Somersetshire. 
When  it  comes,  please  to  send  half  down  here  (paying  the  carriage,  of 
course).    'Twill  be  an  acceptable  present  to  my  kind  entertainer,  Mr.  B." 

This  letter  was  brought  to  me  by  Mr.  Brough  himself  at  the 
office,  who  apologized  to  me  for  having  broken  the  seal  b}^ 
inadvertence  ;  for  the  letter  had  been  mingled  with  some  more 
of  his  own,  and  he  opened  it  without  looking  at  the  superscrip- 
tion. Of  course  he  had  not  read  it,  and  I  was  glad  of  that ; 
for  I  should  not  have  liked  him  to  see  my  aunt's  opinion  of  his 
daughter  and  lad}- . 

The  next  day,  a  gentleman  at  Tom's  Coffee-house,"  Corn- 
hill,  sent  me  word  at  the  office  that  he  wanted  particularly  to 
speak  to  me  :  and  I  stepped  thither,  and  found  my  old  friend 
Smithers,  of  the  house  of  Hodge  and  Smithers,  just  off  the 
coach,  with  his  carpet-bag  between  his  legs. 

Sam  my  boy,"  said  he,  ''you  are  your  aunt's  heir,  and  1 
have  a  piece  of  news  for  you  regarding  her  property  which  3'ou 
ought  to  know.  She  wrote  us  down  a  letter  for  a  chest  of  that 
home-made  wine  of  hers  which  she  calls  Rosolio,  and  which  lies 
in  our  warehouse  along  with  her  furniture." 

"Well,"  says  I,  smiling,  ''she  ma}^  part  wdth  as  much 
Rosolio  as  she  likes  for  me.    I  cede  all  my  right." 

"  Psha !  "  says  Smithers,  "it's  not  that;  though  her  fur- 
niture puts  us  to  a  deuced  inconvenience,  to  be  sure  —  it's  not 
that :  but,  in  the  postscript  of  her  letter,  she  orders  us  to  ad- 
vertise the  Slopperton  and  Squashtail  estates  for  immediate 
sale,  as  she  purposes  placing  her  capital  elsewhere." 

I  knew  that  the  Slopperton  and  Squashtail  propert}^  had 
been  the  source  of  a  very  pretty  income  to  Messrs.  Hodge  and 
Smithers,  for  aunt  was  always  at  law  with  her  tenants,  and  paid 
dearly  for  her  litigious  spirit ;  so  that  Mr.  Smithers's  concern 
regarding  the  sale  of  it  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be  quite  dis- 
interested. 

"  And  did  you  come  to  London,  Mr.  Smithers,  expressh'  to 
acquaint  me  with  this  fact?  It  seems  to  me  3'ou  had  much 
better  have  obe3^ed  my  aunt's  instructions  at  once,  or  go  to  her 
at  Fulham,  and  consult  with  her  on  this  subject." 

" 'Sdeath,  Mr.  Titmarsli !  don't  you  see  that  if  she  makes 
a  sale  of  her  property,  she  will  hand  over  the  money  to  Brough  ; 
and  if  Brough  gets  the  money  he  —  " 

"Will  give  her  seven  per  cent  for  it  instead  of  three, — 
there's  no  harm  in  that." 

"  But  there's  such  a  thing  as  security,  look  you.    He  is  a 


68  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TTTMAKSH 


warm  man,  certainly  —  very  warm  —  quite  respectable  —  most 
undoubtedly  respectable.  But  who  knows?  A  panic  may  take 
place  ;  and  then  these  five  hundred  companies  in  which  he  is 
engaged  may  bring  him  to  ruin.  There's  the  Ginger  Beer 
Compan}^  of  which  Brough  is  a  director  :  awkward  reports  are 
abroad  concerning  it.  The  Consolidated  Baffin's  Bay  Muff  and 
Tippet  Companj'  —  the  shares  are  down  ver}^  low,  and  Brough 
is  a  director  there.  The  Patent  Pump  Company  —  shares  at 
G5,  and  a  fresh  call,  which  nobody  will  pa3\" 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Smithers  !  Has  not  Mr.  Brough  five  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds'  worth  of  shares  in  the  Independent 
Yv'est  Diddlesex,  and  is  that  at  a  discount?  Who  recom- 
mended my  aunt  to  invest  her  money  in  that  speculation,  I 
should  like  to  know?"    I  had  him  there. 

''Well,  well,  it  is  a  very  good  speculation,  certainly,  and 
has  brought  you  three  hundred  a  year,  Sam  my  boy ;  and  you 
may  thank  us  for  tlie  interest  we  took  in  you  (indeed,  we  loved 
you  as  a  son,  and  Miss  Hodge  has  not  recovered  a  certain 
marriage  yet).  You  don't  intend  to  rebuke  us  for  making  your 
fortune,  do  you?" 

"No,  hang  it,  no!"  says  I,  and  shook  hands  with  him, 
and  accepted  a  glass  of  sherry  and  biscuits,  which  he  ordered 
forthwith. 

Smithers  returned,  however,  to  the  charge.  —  "Sam,"  he 
said,  "mark  my  words,  and  take  your  aunt  away  from  the 
Rookery,  She  wrote  to  Mrs.  S.  a  long  account  of  a  reverend 
gent  with  whom  she  walks  out  there,  —  the  Rev.  Grimes 
Wapshot.  That  man  has  an  e3'e  upon  her.  He  was  tried 
at  Lancaster  in  the  year  '14  for  forgery,  and  narrowly  escaped 
with  his  neck.  Have  a  care  of  him  —  he  has  an  ej^e  to  her 
money." 

"Nay,"  said  I,  taking  out  Mrs.  Iloggart^^'s  letter:  "read 
for  yourself." 

lie  read  it  over  very  carefull}',  seemed  to  be  amused  b}^  it ; 
and  as  he  returned  it  to  me,  "Well,  Sam,"  he  said,  "I  have 
only  two  favors  to  ask  of  3'ou  :  one  is,  not  to  mention  that  I 
am  in  town  to  any  living  soul ;  and  the  other  is  to  give  me  a 
dinner  in  Lamb's  Conduit  Street  with  your  pretty  wife." 

"I  promise  you  both  gladly,"  I  said,  laughing.  "But  if 
you  dine  with  us,  your  arrival  in  town  must  be  known,  for  m}' 
friend  Gus  Hoskins  dines  with  us  likewise;  and  has  done  so 
nearly  (ivery  day  since  my  aunt  went." 

He  laughed  too,  and  said,  "  We  must  swear  Gus  to  secrecy 
over  a  bottle."    And  so  we  parted  till  dinner-time. 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  69 


The  indefatigable  lawyer  pursued  his  attack  after  dinner, 
and  was  supported  by  Gus  and  by  my  wife  too ;  who  certainly 
w^as  disinterested  in  the  matter  —  more  than  disinterested,  for 
she  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  be  spared  my  aunt's  com- 
pany. But  she  said  she  saw  the  force  of  Mr.  Smithers's  argu- 
ments, and  I  admitted  their  justice  with  a  sigh.  However, 
I  rode  my  high  horse,  and  vowed  that  my  aunt  should  do  what 
she  liked  with  her  money  ;  and  that  I  was  not  the  man  who 
would  influence  her  in  any  way  in  the  disposal  of  it. 

After  tea,  the  two  gents  walked  away  together,  and  Gus  told 
me  that  Smithers  had  asked  him  a  thousand  questions  about 
the  office,  about  Brough,  about  me  and  my  wife,  and  everything 
concerning  us.  You  are  a  lucky  fellow,  Mr.  Uoskins,  and 
seem  to  be  tho  frend  of  this  charming  3'oung  couple,"  said 
Smithers;  and  Gus  confessed  he  was,  and  said  he  had  dined 
with  us  fifteen  times  in  six  wrecks,  and  that  a  better  and  more 
hospitable  fellow  than  I  did  not  exist.  This  I  state  not  to 
trumpet  my  own  praises,  —  no,  no  ;  but  because  these  questions 
of  Smithers's  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  subsequent  events 
narrated  in  this  little  history. 

Being  seated  at  dinner  the  next  day  off  the  cold  leg  of  mut- 
ton that  Smithers  had  admired  so  the  day  before,  and  Gus  as 
usual  having  his  legs  under  our  mahogany,  a  hackne3^-coach 
drove  up  to  the  door,  which  we  did  not  much  heed  ;  a  step  was 
heard  on  the  floor,  which  we  hoped  might  be  for  the  two-pair 
lodger,  when  who  should  burst  into  the  room  but  Mrs.  Hoggarty 
herself!  Gus,  who  was  blowing  the  froth  off  a  pot  of  porter  pre- 
paratory to  a  delicious  drink  of  the  beverage,  and  had  been 
making  us  die  of  laughing  with  his  stories  and  jokes,  laid  down 
the  pewter  pot  as  Mrs.  H.  came  in,  and  looked  quite  sick  and 
pale.    Indeed  we  all  felt  a  little  uneasy. 

My  aunt  looked  haughtily  in  Mary's  face,  then  fiercely  at 
Gus,  and  saying,  It  is  too  true  —  m}^  poor  boy  —  already  !  " 
flung  herself  hysterically  into  my  arms,  and  swore,  almost  chok- 
ing, that  she  would  never,  never  leave  me. 

I  could  not  understand  the  meaning  of  this  extraordinary' 
agitation  on  Mrs.  Hoggartj^'s  part,  nor  could  any  of  us.  She 
refused  Mary's  hand  when  the  poor  thing  rather  nervously- 
offered  it ;  and  when  Gus  timidly^  said,  ''I  think,  Sam,  I'm  rather 
in  the  way  here,  and  perhaps  —  had  better  go,"  Mrs.  H.  looked 
him  full  in  the  face,  pointed  to  the  door  majestically  with  her 
forefinger,  and  said,  ^'  I  think,  sir,  you  Ar/t^  better  go." 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Hoskins  will  stay  as  long  as  he  pleases,"  said 
my  wife,  with  spirit. 


70  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMAKSH 


^^Of  course  yon  hope  so,  madam,"  answered  Mrs.  Hoggarty, 
very  sarcastic.  Bat  Mary's  speech  and  my  aunt's  were  quite 
lost  upon  Gus  ;  for  he  had  instantly  run  to  his  hat,  and  I  heard 
him  tumbling  down  stairs. 

The  quarrel  ended  as  usual,  b}^  Mary's  bursting  into  a  fit  of 
tears,  and  by  my  aunt's  repeating  the  assertion  that  it  was  not 
too  late,  she  trusted ;  and  from  that  day  forth  she  would  never, 
never  leave  me. 

''What  could  have  made  aunt  return  and  be  so  angry?" 
said  I  to  Mar}'  that  night,  as  we  were  in  our  own  room  ;  but 
my  wife  protested  she  did  not  know  :  and  it  was  onl}^  some 
time  after  that  I  found  out  the  reason  of  this  quarrel,  and  of 
Mrs.  H.'s  sudden  reappearance. 

The  horrible,  fat,  coarse  little  Smithers  told  me  the  matter 
as  a  very  good  joke  onlj^  the  other  year,  when  he  showed  me 
the  letter  of  Hickson,  Dixon,  Paxton,  and  Jackson,  which  has 
before  been  quoted  in  my  Memoirs. 

''  Sam  my  boy,"  said  he,  ''  you  were  determined  to  leave 
Mrs.  Hoggart}'  in  Brough's  clutches  at  the  Rookery,  and  I  was 
determined  to  have  her  awa3\  I  resolved  to  kill  two  of  your 
mortal  enemies  with  one  stone  as  it  were.  It  was  quite  clear  to 
me  that  the  Rev,  Grimes  Wapshot  had  an  eye  to  your  aunt's 
fortune  ;  and  that  Mr.  Brough  had  similar  predator}^  intentions 
regarding  her.  Predatory  is  a  mild  word,  Sam;  if  I  had  said 
robbery  at  once,  I  should  express  m.y  meaning  clearer. 

''Well,  I  took  the  Fulham  stage,  and,  arriving,  made 
straight  for  the  lodgings  of  the  reverend  gentleman.  '  Sir,' 
said  I,  on  finding  that  worthy  gent,  —  he  was  drinking  warm 
brandj'-and-water,  Sam,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  day,  or  at  least 
the  room  smelt  very  strongly  of  that  beverage  —  '  Sir, '  says 
I,  '  3'ou  were  tried  for  forgery  in  the  year  '14,  at  Lancaster 
assizes.' 

"'And  acquitted,  sir.  My  innocence  was  by  Providence 
made  clear,'  said  Wapshot. 

"  '  But  you  were  not  acquitted  of  embezzlement  in  '16,  sir,' 
says  I,  '  and  passed  two  years  in  York  gaol  in  consequence.' 
I  knew  the  fellow's  history,  for  I  had  a  writ  out  against  him 
when  he  was  a  preacher  at  Clifton.  I  followed  up  my  blow. 
'  Mr.  Wapshot,'  said  I,  '  you  are  making  love  to  an  excellent 
lady  now  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Brough  ;  if  you  do  not  promise  to 
give  up  all  pursuit  of  her,  I  will  expose  you.' 

"  '  I  have  promised,'  said  AVapshot,  rather  surprised,  and 
looking  more  easy.  '  I  have  given  m}'  solenni  promise  to  Mr. 
Brough,  who  was  with  me  this  veiy  morning,  storming,  and 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  71 


scolding,  and  swearing.  Oh,  sir,  it  would  have  frightened  you 
to  hear  a  Christian  babe  like  him  swear  as  he  did.' 

'  Mr.  Brongh  been  here?'  says  I,  rather  astonished. 

"'Yes;  I  suppose  you  are  both  here  on  the  same  scent,' 
says  Wapshot.  '  You  want  to  marry  the  widow  with  the  Slop- 
perton  and  Squasiitail  estate,  do  you?  Well,  well,  have  your 
way*  I've  promised  not  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  the 
widow,  and  a  Wapshot's  honor  is  sacred.' 

"  '  I  suppose,  sir,'  says  I,  'Mr.  Brough  has  threatened  to 
kick  3^ou  out  of  doors  if  you  call  again.' 

''  '  Y^ou  have  been  with  him,  I  see,'  says  the  reverend  gent, 
with  a  shrug :  then  I  remembered  what  you  had  told  me  of  the 
broken  seal  of  your  letter,  and  have  not  the  slightest  doubt 
that  Brough  opened  and  read  every  word  of  it. 

"  Well,  the  first  bird  was  bagged:  both  I  and  Brough  had 
had  a  shot  at  him.  Now  I  had  to  fire  at  the  whole  Rooker}^ ; 
and  off  I  went,  primed  and  loaded,  sir,  — primed  and  loaded. 

"It  was  past  eight  when  I  arrived,  and  I  saw  after  I 
passed  the  lodge-gates,  a  figure  that  I  knew,  walking  in  the 
shrubbery'  —  that  of  your  respected  aunt,  sir :  but  I  wished  to 
meet  the  amiable  ladies  of  the  house  before  I  saw  her  ;  because 
look,  friend  Titmarsli,  I  saw  by  Mrs.  Hoggarty's  letter,  that 
she  and  they  were  at  daggers  drawn,  and  hoped  to  get  lier  out 
of  the  house  at  once  by  means  of  a  quarrel  with  them.'* 

I  laughed,  and  owned  that  Mr.  Smithers  was  a  very  cun- 
ning fellow. 

"  As  luck  would  have  it,"  continued  he,  "  Miss  Brough  was 
in  the  drawing-room  twangiing  on  a  guitar,  and  singing  most 
atrociously  out  of  tune;  but  as  I  entered  at  the  door,  I  cried 
'  Hush  ! '  to  the  footman,  as  loud  as  possible,  stoo<:I  stock-still, 
and  then  walked  forward  on  tiptoe  lightly.  Miss  B.  could  see 
in  the  glass  every  movement  that  I  made  ;  she  pretended  not 
to  see,  however,  and  finished  the  song  with  a  regular  roulade. 

"  '  Gracious  heaven  ! '  said  I,  '  do,  madam,  pardon  me  for 
interrupting  that  delicious  harmony,  —  for  coming  unaware 
upon  it,  for  daring  uninvited  to  listen  to  it.' 

"  'Do  you  come  for  mamma,  sir?'  said  Miss  Brough,  with 
as  much  graciousness  as  her  physiognomy  ct)uld  command.  '  I 
am  Miss  Brough,  sir.' 

"  'I  wish,  madam,  you  would  let  me  not  breathe  a  word 
regarding  my  business  until  you  have  sung  another  charming 
strain.' 

"  She  did  not  sing,  but  looked  pleased,  and  said,  '  La !  sir, 
what  is  3^our  business?' 


72  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


"  '  My  business  is  with  a  lady,  respected  father's  guest 
in  this  house.' 

'''Oh,  Mrs.  Hoggarty ! '  says  Miss  Brough,  flouncing  to- 
wards the  bell,  and  ringing  it.  '  John,  send  to  Mrs.  Hoggarty, 
in  the  shrubbery  ;  Iiere  is  a  gentleman  who  wants  to  see  her.' 

'' '  I  know,'  continued  I,  'Mrs.  Hoggarty' s  pecuUarities  as 
well  as  any  one,  madam ;  and  aware  that  those  and  her  edu- 
cation are  not  such  as  to  make  her  a  fit  companion  for  3'ou,  I 
know  3^ou  do  not  like  her :  she  has  written  to  us  in  Somer- 
setshire that  3'OU  do  not  like  her.' 

'  What !  she  has  been  abusing  us  to  her  friends,  has  she?' 
cried  Miss  Brough  (it  w^as  the  ver\'  point  I  wished  to  insinuate). 
'  If  she  does  not  like  us,  why  does  she  not  leave  us?  ' 

''  '  She  has  made  rather  a  long  visit,'  said  I;  'and  I  am 
sure  that  her  nephew  and  niece  are  longing  for  her  return. 
Pray,  madam,  do  not  move,  for  you  may  aid  me  in  the  object 
for  which  I  come.' 

"  The  object  for  which  I  came,  sir,  was  to  establish  a  reg- 
ular battle-royal  between  the  two  ladies  :  at  the  end  of  which 
I  intended  to  appeal  to  jMrs.  Hoggart}',  and  sa}'  that  she  ought 
really  no  longer  to  stay  in  a  house  with  the  members  of  which 
she  had  such  unhappy  differences.  Well,  sir,  the  battle-royal 
was  fought,  —  Miss  Belinda  opening  the  fire,  b}^  saying  she 
understood  Mrs.  Hoggarty  had  been  calumniating  her  to  her 
friends.  But  though  at  the  end  of  it  Miss  rushed  out  of  the 
room  in  a  rage,  and  vowed  she  would  leave  her  home  unless 
that  odious  woman  left  it,  your  dear  aunt  said,  '  Ha,  ha !  I 
know  the  minx's  vile  stratagems  ;  but  thank  heaven  !  I  have  a 
good  heart,  and  my  religion  enables  me  to  forgive  her.  I  shall 
not  leave  her  excellent  papa's  house,  or  vex  by  my  departure 
that  worth}^  admirable  man.' 

"  I  then  tried  Mrs.  H.  on  the  score  of  compassion.  '  Your 
niece,'  said  I,  '  Mrs.  Titmarsh,  madam,  has  been  of  late,  Sam 
says,  rather  poorl^^ — qualmish  of  mornings,  madam,  —  a  lit- 
tle nervous,  and  low  in  spirits,  —  symptoms,  madam,  that  are 
scarcely  to  be  mistaken  in  a  youug  married  person.' 

"  Mrs.  Hoggarty  said  she  liad  an  admirable  cordial  that  she 
would  send  Mrs.  Samuel  Titmarsh,  and  she  was  perfectly  cer- 
tain it  would  do  her  good. 

"  With  very  great  unwillingness  I  was  obliged  now  to  bring 
my  last  reserve  into  the  field,  and  may  tell  you  what  that  was, 
Sam  my  boy,  now  that  the  matter  is  so  long  passed.  '  Madam,' 
said  I,  '  there's  a  matter  about  which  I  must  speak,  though  in- 
deed 1  scarcely  dare.    I  dined  with  3'our  nephew  yesterday, 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  73 


and  met  at  his  table  a  young  man  —  a  young  man  of  low  man- 
ners, but  evidentl}'  one  who  has  blinded  3'our  nephew,  and  X 
too  much  fear  has  succeeded  in  making  an  impression  upon 
your  niece.  His  name  is  Hoskins,  madam  ;  and  when  I  state 
that  he  who  was  never  in  the  house  during  your  presence  there, 
has  dined  with  your  too-confiding  nephew  sixteen  times  in  three 
weeks,  I  may  leave  you  to  imagine  what  I  dare  not  —  dare  not 
imagine  myself/ 

The  shot  told.  Your  aunt  bounced  up  at  once,  and  in 
ten  minutes  more  was  in  my  carriage,  on  our  way  back  to  Lon- 
don.   There,  sir,  was  not  that  generalship?" 

And  you  played  this  pretty  trick  off  at  my  wife's  expense, 
Mr.  Smithers,"  said  I. 

At  your  wife's  expense,  certainly;  but  for  the  benefit  of 
both  of  you." 

It's  lucky,  sir,  that  you  are  an  old  man,"  I  replied,  and 
that  the  affair  happened  ten  years  ago  ;  or,  by  the  Lord,  Mr. 
Smithers,  I  would  have  given  you  such  a  horsewhipping  as 
you  never  heard  of! " 

But  this  was  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Hoggarty  was  brought 
back  to  her  relatives  ;  and  this  was  the  reason  why  we  took 
that  house  in  Bernard  Street,  the  doings  at  which  must  now  be 
described. 


CHAPTER  X. 
OF  sam's  private  affairs,  and  of  the  firm  of  brough 

AND  HOFF. 

We  took  a  genteel  house  in  Bernard  Street,  Russell  Square, 
and  my  aunt  sent  for  all  her  furniture  from  the  country  ;  which 
would  have  filled  two  such  houses,  but  which  came  prettj^  cheap 
to  us  young  housekeepers,  as  we  had  onl}'  to  imy  the  carriage  of 
the  goods  from  Bristol. 

AVhen  I  brought  Mrs.  H.  her  third  half-j^ear's  dividend,  hav- 
ing not  for  four  months  touched  a  shilling  of  her  money,  I  must 
say  she  gave  me  50/.  of  the  80/.,  and  told  me  that  was  ample 
pay  for  the  board  and  lodging  of  a  poor  old  woman  like  her,  who 
did  not  eat  more  than  a  sparrow. 

I  have  myself,  in  the  countiy,  seen  her  eat  nine  sparrows  in 
a  pudding  ;  but  she  was  rich,  and  I  could  not  complain.    If  she 


74  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMAESH 


saved  600/.  a  year,  at  the  least,  b}^  living  with  us,  why,  all  the 
savings  would  one  day  come  to  me  ;  and  so  Mary  and  I  consoled 
ourselves,  and  tried  to  manage  matters  as  well  as  we  might.  It 
was  no  eas}^  task  to  keep  a  mansion  in  Bernard  Street  and  save 
mone}^  out  of  470/.  a  .year,  which  was  my  income.  But  what  a 
lucky  fellow  I  was  to  have  such  an  income  ! 

As  Mrs.  Hoggart}'  left  the  Rooker}^  in  Smitliers's  carriage, 
Mr.  Brough,  with  his  four  grays,  was  entering  the  lodge-gate  ; 
and  I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  looks  of  these  two  gentlemen, 
as  the  one  was  carrying  the  other's  prey  off,  out  of  his  own  very 
den,  under  his  yevy  nose. 

He  came  to  see  her  the  next  day,  and  protested  that  he  would 
not  leave  the  house  until  she  left  it  with  him  :  that  he  had  heard 
of  his  daughter's  infamous  conduct,  and  had  seen  her  in  tears  — 
"  in  tears,  madam,  and  on  her  knees,  imploring  heaven  to  par- 
don her  !  "  But  Mr.  B.  was  obliged  to  leave  the  house  without 
my  aunt,  who  had  a  causa  major  for  staying,  and  hardl}^  allowed 
poor  Mary  out  of  her  sight,  — opening  every  one  of  the  letters 
that  came  into  the  house  directed  to  my  wife,  and  suspecting 
hers  to  everybody.  Mary  never  told  me  of  all  this  pain  for 
many,  many  years  afterwards  ;  but  had  alwaj's  a  smiling  face 
for  her  husband  when  he  came  home  from  his  work.  As  for 
poor  Gus,  my  aunt  had  so  frightened  him,  that  he  never  once 
showed  his  nose  in  the  place  all  the  time  we  lived  there  ;  but 
used  to  be  content  with  news  of  Mary,  of  whom  he  was  as  fond 
as  he  was  of  me. 

Mr.  Brough,  when  m}"  aunt  left  him,  was  in  a  furious  ill 
humor  with  me.  He  found  fault  with  me  ten  times  a  da}',  and 
openly,  before  the  gents  of  the  office  ;  but  I  let  him  one  day 
know  prett}^  smartly  that  I  was  not  only  a  servant,  but  a  con- 
siderable shareholder  in  the  compau}^ ;  that  I  defied  him  to  find 
fault  with  my  w^ork  or  my  regularity ;  and  that  I  was  not 
minded  to  receive  any  insolent  language  from  him  or  any  man. 
He  said  it  was  always  so  ;  that  he  had  never  cherished  a  young 
man  in  his  bosom,  but  the  ingrate  had  turned  on  him  ;  that  he 
was  accustomed  to  wrong  and  undutifulness  from  his  children, 
and  that  he  would  pray  that  the  sin  might  be  forgiven  me.  A 
moment  before  he  had  been  cursing  and  swearing  at  me,  and 
speaking  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  his  shoeblack.  But,  look  3'ou, 
I  was  not  going  to  put  up  with  any  more  of  Madam  Brough's 
airs,  or  of  his.  With  7ne  they  might  act  as  thc}^  thought  fit ; 
but  I  did  not  clioosc;  that  my  wife  should  be  passed  over  b}^ 
them,  as  she  had  been  in  the  matter  of  the  visit  to  P^ulham. 

Brough  ended  ])y  warning  me  of  Hodge  and  Smithers. 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  75 


Beware  of  these  men,"  said  he  ;  but'  for  m)^  honesty,  your 
aunt's  landed  property  would  have  been  sacrificed  by  these  cor- 
morants :  and  when,  for  her  benefit  —  which  you,  obstinate 
3^oung  man,  will  not  perceive  —  I  wished  to  dispose  of  her 
land,  her  attorneys  actually  had  the  audacity  —  the  unchristian 
avarice  I  may  say  —  to  ask  ten  per  cent  commission  on  the 
sale." 

There  might  be  some  truth  in  this,  I  thouglit ;  at  any  rate, 
when  rogues  fall  out,  honest  men  come  by  their  own  :  and  now 
I  began  to  suspect,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  both  the  attorney 
and  the  director  had  a  little  of  the  rogue  in  their  composition. 
It  was  especially  about  my  wife's  fortune  that  Mr.  B.  showed 
his  cloven  foot ;  for  proposing,  as  usual,  that  I  should  purchase 
shares  with  it  in  our  compan}^,  I  told  him  that  my  wife  was  a 
minor,  and  as  such  her  httle  fortune  was  vested  out  of  m}"  con- 
trol altogether.  He  flung  away  in  a  rage  at  this  ;  and  I  soon 
saw  that  he  did  not  care  for  me  an}"  more,  by  Abednego's 
manner  to  me.  No  more  holidays,  no  more  advances  of  money, 
had  I ;  on  the  contrar}^,  the  private  clerkship  at  50/.  was  abol- 
ished, and  I  found  myself  on  my  250/.  a  year  again.  Well, 
what  then?  it  was  always  a  good  income,  and  I  did  m}"  duty, 
and  laughed  at  the  director. 

About  this  time,  in  the  beginning  of  1824,  the  Jamaica 
Ginger  Beer  Company  shut  up  shop — exploded,  as  Gus  said, 
with  a  bang  !  The  Patent  Pump  shares  were  down  to  15/.  upon 
a  paid-up  capital  of  65/.  Still  ours  were  at  a  high  premium  ; 
and  the  Independent  West  Diddlesex  held  its  head  up  as 
proudl}'  as  an}^  office  in  London.  Roundhand's  abuse  had  had 
some  influence  against  the  director,  certainly  ;  for  he  hinted  at 
malversation  of  shares  :  but  the  company  still  stood  as  united 
as  the  Hand-in-Hand,  and  as  firm  as  the  Rock. 

To  return  to  the  state  of  affairs  in  Bernard  Street,  Russell 
Square  :  M}'  aunt's  old  furniture  crammed  our  little  rooms  ;  and 
m}"  aunt's  enormous  old  jingling  grand  piano,  with  crooked  legs 
and  half  the  strings  broken,  occupied  three-fourths  of  the  little 
drawing-room.  Here  used  Mrs.  H.  to  sit,  and  play  us,  for 
hours,  sonatas  that  were  in  fashion  in  Lord  Charleville's  time  ; 
and  sung  with  a  cracked  voice,  till  it  was  all  that  we  could  do 
to  refrain  from  laughing. 

And  it  was  queer  to  remark  the  change  that  had  taken  place 
in  Mrs.  Hoggarty's  character  now  :  for  whereas  she  was  in  the 
countr}^  among  the  topping  persons  of  the  village,  and  quite 
content  with  a  tea-party  at  six  and  a  game  of  twopenny  whist 
afterwards,  —  in  London  she  would  never  dine  till  seven ; 


76  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


would  have  a  fly  from  the  mews  to  drive  in  the  Park  twice  a 
week  ;  cut  and  uncut,  and  ripped  up  and  twisted  over  and  over, 
all  her  old  gowns,  flounces,  caps,  and  fallals,  and  kept  m}'  poor 
Mary  from  morning  till  night  altering  them  to  the  present 
mode.  Mrs.  Hoggart}',  moreover,  appeared  in  a  new  wig ; 
and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  turned  out  with  such  a  pair  of  red 
cheeks  as  Nature  never  gave  her,  and  as  made  all  the  people 
in  Bernard  Street  stare,  where  they  are  not  as  yet  used  to 
such  fashions. 

Moreover,  she  insisted  upon  our  establishing  a  servant  in 
liver}^, — a  boy,  that  is,  of  about  sixteen,  — who  was  dressed 
in  one  of  the  old  liveries  that  she  had  brought  with  her  from 
Somersetshire,  decorated  with  new  cuffs  and  collars,  and  new 
buttons  :  on  the  latter  were  represented  the  united  crests  of  the 
Titmarshes  and  Hoggarties,  viz.  a  tomtit  rampant  and  a  hog 
in  armor.  I  thought  this  livery  and  crest-button  rather  absurd, 
I  must  confess ;  though  my  family  is  very  ancient.  And 
heavens  !  what  a  roar  of  laughter  was  raised  in  the  oflice  one 
day,  when  the  little  servant  in  the  big  liver^^,  with  the  immense 
cane,  walked  in  and  brought  me  a  message  from  Mrs.  Hog- 
gart}"  of  Castle  Iloggarty  !  Furthermore,  all  letters  were  de- 
livered on  a  silver  tra}'.  If  we  had  had  a  bab}' ,  I  believe  aunt 
would  have  had  it  down  on  the  tra}^ :  but  there  was  as  yet  no 
foundation  for  Mr.  Smithers's  insinuation  upon  that  score,  any 
more  than  for  his  other  cowardl}'  fabrication  before  narrated. 
Aunt  and  Mary  used  to  walk  gravel3'  up  and  down  the  New 
Road,  with  the  boy  following  with  his  great  gold-headed  stick  ; 
but  though  there  was  all  this  ceremony  and  parade,  and  aunt 
still  talked  of  her  acquaintances,  we  did  not  see  a  single  per- 
son from  week's  end  to  week's  end,  and  a  more  dismal  house 
than  ours  could  hardly  be  found  in  London  town. 

On  Sunda^^s,  Mrs.  Hoggart}^  used  to  go  to  Saint  Pancras 
Church,  then  just  built,  and  as  handsome  as  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  ;  and  of  evenings,  to  a  meeting-house  of  the  Anabap- 
tists :  and  that  da}',  at  least,  Mar}^  and  I  had  to  ourselves,  — 
for  we  chose  to  have  seats  at  the  Foundling,  and  heard  the 
charming  music  there,  and  my  wife  used  to  look  wistfully  in 
the  pretty  children's  faces,  —  and  so,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
did  I.  It  was  not,  however,  till  a  year  after  onr  marriage 
that  she  spoke  in  a  way  which  shall  be  here  passed  over,  but 
which  filled  both  her  and  me  with  inexpressible  jo}'. 

I  remember  she  had  the  news  to  give  me  on  the  very  day 
when  the  Mnff  and  Ti[)pet  Company'  shut  np,  after  swallowing 
a  capital  of  300,000/.  as  some  said,  and  nothing  to  show  for  it 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  77 


except  a  treaty  with  some  Indians,  who  had  afterwards  toma- 
hawked the  agent  of  the  company.  Some  people  said  there 
were  no  Indians,  and  no  agent  to  be  tomahawked  at  all ;  but 
that  the  whole  had  been  invented  in  a  house  in  Crutched 
Friars.  Well,  I  pitied  poor  Tidd,  whose  20,000/.  were  thus 
gone  in  a  year,  and  whom  I  met  in  the  city  that  day  with  a 
most  ghastly  face.  He  had  1,000/.  of  debts,  he  said,  and 
talked  of  shooting  himself ;  but  he  was  only  arrested,  and 
passed  a  long  time  in  the  Fleet.  Mary's  delightful  news,  how- 
ever, soon  put  Tidd  and  the  Muff  and  Tippet  Company  out  of 
my  head  ;  as  3'ou  may  fancy. 

Other  circumstances  now  occurred  in  the  city  of  London 
which  seemed  to  show  that  our  director  was  —  what  is  not  to 
be  found  in  Johnson's  Dictionary  "  —  rather  shak}'.  Three  of 
his  companies  had  broken  ;  four  more  were  in  a  notoriously 
insolvent  state  ;  and  even  at  the  meetings  of  the  directors  of 
the  West  Diddlesex,  some  stormy  words  passed,  which  ended 
in  the  retirement  of  several  of  the  board.  Friends  of  Mr.  B.'s 
filled  up  their  places  :  Mr.  Puppet,  Mr.  Straw,  Mr.  Query,  and 
other  respectable  gents,  coming  forward  and  joining  the  con- 
cern. Brough  and  Hoff  dissolved  partnership  ;  and  Mr.  B. 
said  he  had  quite  enough  to  do  to  manage  the  I.  W.  D.,  and 
intended  gradually  to  retire  from  the  other  affairs.  Indeed, 
such  an  association  as  ours  was  enough  work  for  any  man,  let 
alone  the  parliamentary  duties  which  Brough  was  called  on  to 
perform,  and  the  seventy-two  law-suits  which  burst  upon  him 
as  principal  director  of  the  late  companies. 

Perhaps  I  should  here  describe  the  desperate  attempts  made 
by  Mrs.  Hoggarty  to  introduce  herself  into  genteel  life. 
Strange  to  say,  although  we  had  my  Lord  Tiptoff 's  w^ord  to 
the  contrarj^,  she  insisted  upon  it  that  she  and  Lady  Drum 
were  intimately  related  ;  and  no  sooner  did  she  read  in  the 
Morning  Post  of  the  arrival  of  her  ladyship  and  her  grand- 
daughters in  London,  than  she  ordered  the  before  men- 
tioned, and  left  cards  at  their  respective  houses  :  her  card, 
that  is  —  ''Mrs.  Hoggarty  of  Castle  Hoggarty,"  magnifi- 
cently engraved  in  Gothic  letters  and  flourishes  ;  and  ours, 
viz.  ''Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  Titmarsh,"  which  she  had  printed  for 
the  purpose. 

She  would  have  stormed  Lad}^  Jane  Preston's  door  and 
forced  her  way  up  stairs,  in  spite  of  Mary's  entreaties  to  the 
contrary,  had  the  footman  who  received  her  card  given  her 
the  least  encouragement ;  but  that  functionary,  no  doubt  struck 
by  the  oddity  of  her  appearance,  placed  himself  in  the  front 


78  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


of  the  door,  and  declared  that  he  had  positive  orders  not  to 
admit  an}^  strangers  to  his  lady.  On  which  Mrs.  Hoggarty 
clenched  her  fist  out  of  the  coach- window,  and  promised  that 
she  would  have  him  turned  away. 

Yellowplush  onl}^  burst  out  laughing  at  this  :  and  though 
aunt  wrote  a  most  indignant  letter  to  Mr.  Edmund  Preston, 
complaining  of  the  insolence  of  the  servants  of  that  right  honor- 
able gent,  Mr.  Preston  did  not  take  any  notice  of  her  letter, 
further  than  to  return  it,  with  a  desire  that  he  might  not  be 
troubled  with  such  impertinent  visits  for  the  future.  A  pretty 
da}^  we  had  of  it  when  this  letter  arrived,  owing  to  m}^  aunt's 
disappointment  and  rage  in  reading  the  contents  ;  for  when 
Solomon  brought  up  the  note  on  the  silver  tea-tray  as  usual, 
my  aunt  seeing  Mr.  Preston's  seal  and  name  at  the  corner  of 
the  letter  (which  is  the  common  way  of  writing  adopted  by 
those  official  gents)  —  my  aunt,  I  say,  seeing  his  name  and 
seal,  cried,  Now^  Mary,  who  is  right?"  and  betted  my  wife 
a  sixpence  that  the  envelope  contained  an  invitation  to  dinner. 
She  never  paid  the  sixpence,  though  she  lost,  but  contented 
herself  by  abusing  Mary  all  da}',  and  said  I  was  a  poor-spirited 
sneak  for  not  instantly  horsewhipping  Mr.  P.  A  pretty  joke, 
indeed  !  They  would  have  hanged  me  in  those  daj^s,  as  they 
did  the  man  who  shot  Mr.  Perceval. 

And  now  I  should  be  glad  to  enlarge  upon  that  experience 
in  genteel  life  which  I  obtained  through  the  perseverance  of 
Mrs.  Hoggarty  ;  but  it  must  be  owned  that  my  opportunities 
were  but  few,  lasting  only  for  the  brief  period  of  six  months  : 
and  also,  genteel  societ}^  has  been  full}^  described  already  b}^ 
various  authors  of  novels,  whose  names  need  not  here  be  set 
down,  but  who,  being  themselves  connected  with  the  aristocracy^ 
viz.  as  members  of  noble  families,  or  as  footmen  or  hangers-on 
thereof,  naturally  understand  their  subject  a  great  deal  better 
than  a  poor  young  fellow  from  a  fire-office  can. 

There  was  our  celebrated  adventure  in  the  Opera  House, 
whither  Mrs.  H.  would  insist  upon  conducting  us  ;  and  where, 
in  a  room  of  the  establishment  called  the  crush-room,  where  the 
ladies  and  gents  after  the  music  and  dancing  await  the  arrival 
of  their  carriages  (a  prett}'  figure  did  our  little  Solomon  cut  by 
the  way,  with  his  big  cane,  among  the  gentlemen  of  the  shoulder- 
knot  assem})led  in  the  loblw  !)  —  where,  I  say,  in  the  crush- 
room,  Mrs.  H.  rushed  up  to  old  Lad}^  Drum,  whom  I  pointed 
out  to  her,  and  insisted  upon  claiming  relationship  with  her 
ladyship.  But  my  Lady  Drum  had  only  a  memory  when  she 
chose,  as  I  may  say,  and  had  entirely  on  this  occasion  thought 


AND  THE  GREAT  llOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  79 


fit  to  forget  her  connection  with  the  Titmarshes  and  Iloggar- 
ties.  Far  from  recognizing  us,  indeed,  she  called  Mrs.  Hog- 
garty  an  "  cjus-'oman,"  and  screamed  out  as  loud  as  possible 
for  a  police-officer. 

This  and  other  rebuffs  made  my  aunt  perceive  the  vanities 
of  this  wicked  world,  as  she  said,  and  threw  her  more  and  more 
into  really  serious  society.  She  formed  several  very  valuable 
acquaintances,  she  said,  at  the  Independent  Chapel ;  and 
among  others,  lighted  upon  her  friend  of  the  Rookery,  Mr. 
Grimes  Wapshot.  W e  did  not  know  then  the  interview  which 
he  had  had  with  Mr.  Smithers,  nor  did  Grimes  think  proper  to 
acquaint  us  with  the  particulars  of  it ;  but  though  I  did  acquaint 
Mrs.  H.  with  the  fact  that  her  favorite  preacher  had  been  tried 
for  forger3%  she  replied  that  she  considered  the  story  an  atrocious 
calumu}^ ;  and  he  answered  saying  that  Mary  and  I  were  in 
lamentable  darkness,  and  that  we  should  infallibly  find  the  way 
to  a  certain  bottomless  pit,  of  which  he  seemed  to  know  a  great 
deal.  Under  the  reverend  gentleman's  guidance  and  advice, 
she,  after  a  time,  separated  from  Saint  Pancras  altogether  — 
sat  under  hiyn^''  as  the  phrase  is,  regularl}'  thrice  a  week  — 
began  to  labor  in  the  conversion  of  the  poor  of  Bloomsbury 
and  St.  Giles's,  and  made  a  deal  of  baby-linen  for  distribution 
among  those  benighted  people.  She  did  not  make  any,  how- 
ever, for  Mrs.  Sam  Titmarsh,  who  now  showed  signs  that  such 
would  be  speedil}^  necessar}^,  but  let  Mary  (and  m^'  mother  and 
sisters  in  Somersetshire)  provide  what  was  requisite  for  the 
coming  event.  I  am  not,  indeed,  sure  that  she  did  not  saj^  it 
was  wrong  on  our  parts  to  make  any  such  provision,  and  that 
we  ought  to  let  the  morrow  provide  for  itself.  At  any  rate,  the 
Rev.  Grimes  Wapshot  drank  a  deal  of  brandy-and-water  at  our 
house,  and  dined  there  even  oftener  than  poor  Gus  used  to  do. 

But  I  had  little  leisure  to  attend  to  him  and  his  doings  ;  for 
I  must  confess  at  this  time  I  was  growing  verj'  embarrassed  in 
my  circumstances,  and  was  much  harassed  both  as  a  private 
and  public  character. 

As  regards  the  former,  Mrs.  Hoggart}'  had  given  me  50/.  ; 
but  out  of  that  50/.  I  had  to  pay  a  journe}^  post  from  Somerset- 
shire, all  the  carriage  of  her  goods  from  the  countrj',  the  paint- 
ing, papering,  and  carpeting  of  m}^  house,  the  brandy  and 
strong  liquors  drunk  b}'  the  Rev.  Grimes  and  his  friends  (for 
the  reverend  gent  said  that  Rosolio  did  not  agree  with  him)  ; 
and  finall}^,  a  thousand  small  bills  and  expenses  incident  to  all 
housekeepers  in  the  town  of  London. 

Add  to  this,  I  received  just  at  the  time  when  I  was  most  in  want 


80  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


of  cash,  Madame  Mantalini's  bill,  Messrs.  Howell  and  James's 
ditto,  the  account  of  Baron  von  Stiltz,  and  the  bill  of  Mr. 
Polonius  for  the  setting  of  the  diamond-pin.  All  these  bills 
arrived  in  a  week,  as  they  have  a  knack  of  doing ;  and  fancy 
my  astonishment  in  presenting  them  to  Mrs.  Hoggart}^,  when 
she  said,  Well,  my  dear,  you  are  in  the  receipt  of  a  \ery  fine 
income.  If  you  choose  to  order  dresses  and  jewels  from  first- 
rate  shops,  you  must  pay  for  them  ;  and  don't  expect  that  / 
am  to  abet  your  extravagance,  or  give  you  a  shilling  more  than 
the  munificent  sum  I  pay  you  for  board  and  lodging !  " 

How  could  I  tell  Mary  of  this  behavior  of  Mrs.  Hoggarty, 
and  Mary  in  such  a  delicate  condition  ?  And  bad  as  matters 
were  at  home,  I  am  sorry  to  say  at  the  office  they  began  to 
look  still  worse. 

Not  only  did  Roundhand  leave,  but  Highmore  went  away. 
Abednego  became  head  clerk  :  and  one  da}^  old  Abednego  came 
to  the  place  and  was  shown  into  the  directors'  private  room  ; 
when  he  left  it,  he  came  trembhng,  chattering,  and  cursing 
down  stairs  ;  and  had  begun,  Shentlemen  —  "  a  speech  to  the 
very  clerks  in  the  oflflce,  when  Mr.  Brough,  with  an  imploring 
look,  and  crying  out,  Stop  till  Saturday  !  "  at  length  got  him 
into  the  street. 

On  Saturda}^  Abednego,  junior,  left  the  office  for  ever,  and 
I  became  head  clerk  with  400/.  a  3'ear  salary.  It  was  a  fatal 
week  for  the  oflfice,  too.  On  Monda}',  when  I  arrived  and  took 
my  seat  at  the  head  desk,  and  my  first  read  of  the  newspaper, 
as  was  my  right,  the  first  thing  I  read  was,  Frightful  fire  in 
Houndsditch  !  Total  destruction  of  Mr.  Meshach's  sealing-wax 
manufactor}',  and  of  Mr.  Shadrach's  clothing  depot,  adjoining. 
In  the  former  was  20,000/.  worth  of  the  finest  Dutch  wax, 
which  the  voracious  element  attacked  and  devoured  in  a 
twinkling.  The  latter  estimable  gentleman  had  just  completed 
40,000  suits  of  clothes  for  the  cavalry  of  H.  H.  the  Cacique  of 
Poyais." 

Both  of  these  Jewish  gents,  who  were  connections  of  Mr. 
Abednego,  were  insured  in  our  office  to  the  full  amount  of  their 
loss.  The  calamity  was  attributed  to  the  drunkenness  of  a 
scoundrelly  Irish  watchman,  who  was  employed  on  the  prem- 
ises, and  who  upset  a  bottle  of  whiskey  in  the  warehouse  of 
Messrs.  Shadrach,  and  incautiously  looked  for  the  liquor  with 
a  lighted  candle.  The  man  was  brought  to  our  office  b}^  his 
emplo3^ers  ;  and  certainly,  as  we  all  could  testify,  was  even  then 
in  a  state  of  frightful  intoxication. 

As  if  this  were  not  sufficient,  in  the  obituary  was  announced 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  81 


the  demise  of  Alderman  Pasb  —  Aldermany  Cally-Pash  we 
used  to  call  him  in  our  lighter  hours,  knowing  his  propensity  to 
green  fat :  but  such  a  moment  as  this  was  no  time  for  joking ! 
He  was  insured  by  our  house  for  5,000/.  And  now  I  saw  very 
well  the  truth  of  a  remark  of  Gus's  —  viz.  that  life-insurance 
companies  go  on  excellently  for  a  year  or  two  after  their  estab- 
lishment, but  that  it  is  much  more  difficult  to  make  them  profit- 
able when  the  assured  parties  begin  to  die. 

The  Jewish  fires  were  the  heaviest  blows  we  had  had  ;  for 
though  the  Waddingley  Cotton-mills  had  been  burnt  in  1822,  at 
a  loss  to  the  compan}'  of  80,000/.,  and  though  the  Patent  Eros- 
tratus  Match  Manufactory  had  exploded  in  the  same  year  at  a 
charge  of  14,000/.,  there  were  those  who  said  that  the  loss  had 
not  been  near  so  heavy  as  was  supposed  —  nay,  that  the  com- 
pany had  burnt  the  above-named  establishments  as  advertise- 
ments for  themselves.  Of  these  facts  I  can't  be  positive, 
having  never  seen  the  early  accounts  of  the  concern. 

Contrary  to  the  expectation  of  all  us  gents,  who  were  our- 
selves as  dismal  as  mutes,  Mr.  Brough  came  to  the  office  in  his 
coach-and-four,  laughing  and  joking  with  a  friend  as  he  stepped 
out  at  the  door. 

Gentlemen!  "  said  he,  "  3^ou  have  read  the  papers;  they 
announce  an  event  w^iich  I  most  deepl}'  deplore.  I  mean  the 
demise  of  the  excellent  Alderman  Pash,  one  of  our  constitu- 
ents. But  if  anything  can  console  me  for  the  loss  of  that 
worthy  man,  it  is  to  think  that  his  children  and  widow  will 
receive,  at  eleven  o'clock  next  Saturda}^  5,000/.  from  my  friend 
Mr.  Titmarsh,  who  is  now  head  clerk  here.  As  for  the  acci- 
dent which  has  happened  to  Messrs.  Shadrach  and  Meshach,  — 
in  that,  at  least,  there  is  nothing  that  can  occasion  any  person 
sorrow.  On  Saturday  next,  or  as  soon  as  the  particulars  of 
their  loss  can  be  satisfactorilj^  ascertained,  m}^  friend  Mr.  Tit- 
marsh  will  pay  to  them  across  the  counter  a  sum  of  fort}^,  fift}', 
eight}',  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  —  according  to  the  amount 
of  their  loss.  The?/^  at  least,  will  be  remunerated  ;  and  though 
to  our  proprietors  the  outlay  will  no  doubt  be  considerable,  yet 
we  can  afford  it,  gentlemen.  John  Brough  can  afford  it  him- 
self, for  the  matter  of  that,  and  not  be  very  much  embarrassed  ; 
and  we  must  learn  to  bear  ill-fortune  as  we  have  hitherto  borne 
good,  and  show  ourselves  to  be  men  always  !  " 

Mr.  B.  concluded  with  some  allusions,  which  I  confess  I 
don't  like  to  give  here  ;  for  to  speak  of  heaven  in  connection 
with  common  worldl}'  matters,  has  always  appeared  to  me 
irreverent ;  and  to  bring  it  to  bear  witness  to  the  lie  in  his 

6 


82  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


mouth,  as  a  religious  113'pocrite  does,  is  such  a  frightful  crime, 
that  one  should  be  careful  even  in  alluding  to  it. 

Mr.  Brough's  speech  somehow  found  its  way  into  the  news- 
papers of  that  very  evening  ;  nor  can  I  think  who  gave  a  report 
of  it,  for  none  of  our  gents  left  the  office  that  day  until  the 
evening  papers  had  appeared.  But  there  was  the  speech  — 
ay,  and  at  the  week's  end,  although  Roundhand  was  heai'd  on 
'Change  that  day  declaring  he  would  bet  five  to  one  that  Alder- 
man Pash's  money  would  never  be  paid,  —  at  the  week's  end 
the  money  w^as  paid  by  me  to  Mrs.  Pash's  solicitor  across  the 
counter,  and  no  doubt  Roundhand  lost  his  money. 

Shall  I  te)  1  liow  the  money  w^as  procured  ?  There  can  be  no 
harm  in  mentioning  the  matter  now  after  twenty  3'ears'  lapse  of 
time  ;  and  moreover,  it  is  greatl}"  to  the  credit  of  two  individu- 
als now  dead. 

As  I  was  head  clerk,  I  had  occasion  to  be  frequently  in 
Brough's  room,  and  he  now  seemed  once  more  disposed  to  take 
me  into  his  confidence. 

"  Titmarsh  m}"  bo}',"  said  he  one  day  to  me,  after  looking 
me  hard  in  the  face,  did  you  ever  hear  of  the  fate  of  the  great 
Mr.  Silberschmidt,  of  London?"  Of  course  I  had.  Mr.  Silber- 
schmidt,  the  Rothschild  of  his  day  (indeed  I  have  heard  the  lat- 
ter famous  gent  was  originall}^  a  clerk  in  Silberschmidt's  house) 
—  Silberschmidt,  fancying  he  could  not  meet  his  engagements, 
committed  suicide  :  and  had  he  lived  till  four  o'clock  that  da}', 
would  have  known  that  he  w^as  w^orth  400,000/.  To  tell  you 
frankly  the  truth,"  says  Mr.  B.,  "  I  am  in  Silberschmidt's  case. 
My  late  partner,  Hoff,  has  given  bills  in  the  name  of  the  firm 
to  an  enormous  amount,  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  meet  them. 
I  have  been  cast  in  fourteen  actions,  brought  by  creditors  of  that 
infernal  Ginger  Beer  Company  ;  and  all  the  debts  are  put  upon 
my  shoulders,  on  account  of  my  known  wealth.  Now,  unless  I 
have  time,  I  cannot  pay  ;  and  the  long  and  short  of  the  matter 
is,  that  if  I  cannot  procure  5,000/.  before  Saturday',  our  concern 
is  ruined!  " 

''What!  the  West  Diddlesex  ruined?"  says  I,  thinking 
of  my  poor  mother's  annuity.  '' Liipossible  !  our  business  is 
splendid  !  " 

''We  must  have  5,000/.  on  Saturday,  and  we  are  saved; 
and  if  you  w^ill,  as  aou  can,  get  it  for  me,  J  will  give  you 
10,000/.' for  the  money." 

B.  then  showed  me  to  a  fraction  the  accounts  of  the  concern, 
and  his  own  i)rivate  account ;  proving  be3'ond  the  possibility  of 
a  doubt,  that  with  the  5,000/.  our  office  must  be  set  a-going; 


AND  THE  GKExVT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  83 


and  without  it,  that  the  concern  must  stop.  No  matter  how  he 
proved  the  thing;  but  there  is,  you  know,  a  dictum  of  a  states- 
man that,  give  him  but  leave  to  use  figures,  and  he  will  prove 
anything. 

I  promised  to  ask  Mrs.  Hoggarty  once  more  for  the  money, 
and  she  seemed  not  to  be  disinclined.  I  told  him  so  ;  and. that 
day  he  called  upon  her,  his  wife  called  upon  her,  his  daughter 
called  upon  her,  and  once  more  the  Brough  carriage-and-four 
was  seen  at  our  house. 

But  Mrs.  Brough  was  a  bad  manager  ;  and  instead  of  carry- 
ing matters  with  a  high  hand,  fairly  burst  into  tears  before  Mrs. 
Hoggarty,  and  went  down  on  her  knees  and  besought  her  to 
save  dear  John.  This  at  once  aroused  my  aunt's  suspicions; 
and  instead  of  lending  the  money,  she  wrote  off  to  Mr.  Smithers 
instantly  to  come  up  to  her,  desired  me  to  give  her  up  the 
3,000/.  scrip  shares  that  I  possessed,  called  me  an  atrocious 
cheat  and  heartless  swindler,  and  vowed  I  had  been  the  cause 
of  her  ruin. 

How  was  Mr.  Brough  to  get  the  money?  I  will  tell  you. 
Being  in  his  room  one  day,  old  Gates  the  Fulham  porter  came  and 
brought  him  from  Mr.  Balls,  the  pawnbroker,  a  sum  of  1,200/. 
Missus  told  him,  he  said,  to  carrj^  the  plate  to  Mr.  Balls  ;  and 
having  paid  the  money,  old  Gates  fumbled  a  great  deal  in  his 
pockets,  and  at  last  pulled  out  a  5/.  note,  which  he  said  his  daugh- 
ter Jane  had  just  sent  him  from  service,  and  begged  Mr.  B. 
would  let  him  have  another  share  in  the  company.  "  He  was 
mortal  sure  it  would  go  right  yet.  And  when  he  heard  master 
crying  and  cursing  as  he  and  missus  were  walking  in  the  shrub- 
bery, and  sa3'ing  that  for  the  want  of  a  few  pounds  —  a  few 
shillings  —  the  finest  fortune  in  Europe  was  to  be  overthrow^n, 
wh}'  Gates  and  his  woman  thought  that  they  should  come 
for'ard,  to  be  sure,  with  all  they  could,  to  help  the  kindest 
master  and  missus  ever  was." 

This  was  the  substance  of  Gates's  speech  ;  and  Mr.  Brough 
shook  his  hand  and  —  took  the  5/.  ''Gates,"  said  he,  ''that 
5/.  note  shall  be  the  best  outlay  you  ever  made  in  your  life  !  " 
and  I  have  no  doubt  it  was,  —  but  it  was  in  heaven  that  poor 
old  Gates  was  to  get  the  interest  of  his  little  mite. 

Nor  was  this  the  ouXy  instance.  Mrs.  Brough's  sister.  Miss 
Dough,  who  had  been  on  bad  terms  with  the  director  almost 
ever  since  he  had  risen  to  be  a  great  man,  came  to  the  office 
with  a  power  of  attorne}',  and  said,  "John,  Isabella  has  been 
with  me  this  morning,  and  says  you  want  mone}',  and  I  have 
brought  you  niy  4  ,000/.  ;  it  is  all  I  have,  John,  and  pray  God 


84  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


it  ma}^  do  you  good  —  you  and  m}'  dear  sister,  who  was  the  best 
sister  in  the  world  to  me  —  till  —  till  a  little  time  ago." 

And  she  laid  down  the  paper :  I  w^as  called  up  to  witness  it, 
and  Brough,  with  tears  in  his  ej^es,  told  me  her  words ;  for  he 
could  trust  me,  he  said.  And  thus  it  was  that  I  came  to  be 
present  at  Gates's  interview  with  his  master,  which  took  place 
only  an  hour  afterwards.  Brave  Mrs.  Brough !  how  she  was 
working  for  her  husband  !  Good  woman,  and  kind !  but  ycu 
had  a  true  heart,  and  merited  a  better  fate  1  Though  wherefore 
say  so?  The  woman,  to  this  day,  thinks  her  husband  an  angel, 
and  loves  him  a  thousand  times  better  for  his  misfortunes. 

On  Saturdays  Alderman  Pash's  solicitor  w^as  paid  ^by  me 
across  the  counter,  as  I  said.  "  Never  mind  3^our  aunt's  money, 
Titmarsh,  my  boy,"  said  Brough:  "never  mhid  her  having 
resumed  her  shares ;  you  are  a  true,  honest  fellow ;  you  have 
never  abused  me  like  that  pack  of  curs  down  stairs,  and  I'll 
make  your  fortune  yet !  " 

The  next  week,  as  I  was  sitting  with  my  wife,  with  Mr. 
Smithers,  and  with  Mrs.  Hoggart^^  taking  our  tea  comfortabl}^, 
a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  a  gentleman  desired  to  speaii 
to  me  in  the  parlor.  It  was  Mr.  Aminadab  of  Chancery  Lane, 
who  arrested  me  as  a  shareholder  of  the  Independent  West 
Diddlesex  Association,  at  the  suit  of  Von  Stiltz  of  Clifford 
Street,  Tailor  and  Draper. 

I  called  down  Smithers,  and  told  him  for  heaven's  sake  not 
to  tell  Mary. 

''Where  is  Brough?"  says  Mr.  Smithers. 

"  Why,"  says  Mr.  Aminadab,  "  he's  once  more  of  the  firm 
of  Brough  and  Off,  sir  —  he  breakfasted  at  Calais  this  morning  !" 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN   WHICH   IT   APPEARS   THAT   A   MAN   MAY   POSSESS    A  DIAMOND 
AND  YET  BE  VERY  HARD  PRESSED  FOR  A  DINNER. 

On  that  fatal  Saturday  evening,  in  a  hackney-coach  fetched 
from  the  Foundling,  was  I  taken  from  ni}'  comfortable  house 
and  my  dear  little  wife  ;  whom  Mr.  Smithers  was  left  to  console 
as  he  might.  He  said  that  I  was  compelled  to  take  a  journey 
upon  business  connected  with  the  office  ;  and  my  poor  Mary 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND. 


85 


made  up  a  little  portmanteau  of  clothes,  and  tied  a  comforter 
round  my  neck,  and  bade  my  companion  particularly  to  keep 
the  coach-windows  shut:  which  injunction  the  grinning  wretch 
promised  to  obey.  Our  journey  was  not  long ;  it  was  only  a 
shilling  fare  to  Cursitor  Street,  Chancery  Lane,  and  there  I  was 
set  down. 

The  house  before  which  the  coach  stopped  seemed  to  be  only 
one  of  half  a  dozen  in  that  street  which  were  used  for  the  same 
purpose.  No  man,  be  he  ever  so  rich,  can  pass  by  those  dis- 
mal houses,  I  think,  without  a  shudder.  The  front  windows 
are  barred,  and  on  the  ding}'  pillar  of  the  door  was  a  shining 
brass-plate,  setting  forth  that  Aminadab,  Officer  to  the  Sheriff 
of  Middlesex,"  lived  therein.  A  little  red-haired  Israelite 
opened  the  first  door  as  our  coach  drove  up,  and  received  me 
and  my  baggage. 

As  soon  as  we  entered  the  door,  he  barred  it,  and  I  found 
myself  in  the  face  of  another  huge  door,  which  was  strongly 
locked ;  and,  at  last,  passing  through  that,  we  entered  the  lobby 
of  the  house. 

There  is  no  need  to  describe  it.  It  is  very  like  ten  thousand 
other  houses  in  our  dark  cit}'  of  London.  There  was  a  dirty 
passage  and  a  dirty  stair,  and  from  the  passage  two  dirty  doors 
let  into  two  filthy  rooms,  which  had  strong  bars  at  the  windows, 
and  yet  withal  an  air  of  horrible  finery  that  makes  me  uncom- 
fortable to  think  of  even  yet.  On  the  walls  hung  all  sorts  of 
trumper}'  pictures  in  tawdry  frames  (how"  different  from  those 
capital  performances  of  my  cousin  Michael  Angelo  !)  ;  on  the 
mantel-piece  huge  French  clocks,  vases,  and  candlesticks  ;  on 
the  sideboards,  enormous  trays  of  Birmingham  plated  ware  : 
for  Mr.  Aminadab  not  only  arrested  those  who  could  not  pay 
mone3%  ^^^^  those  who  could ;  and  had  alreadj',  in  the 
wa}^  of  trade,  sold  and  bought  these  articles  man}^  times  over. 

I  agreed  to  take  the  back  parlor  for  the  night,  and  while  a 
Hebrew  damsel  was  arranging  a  little  dusky  sofa-bedstead  (woe 
betide  him  who  has  to  sleep  on  it !)  I  was  invited  into  the  front 
parlor,  wiiere  Mr.  Aminadal),  bidding  me  take  heart,  told  me  I 
should  have  a  dinner  for  nothing  with  a  part}'  who  had  just 
arrived.  I  did  not  want  for  dinner,  but  I  was  glad  not  to  be 
alone  —  not  alone,  even  till  Gus  came  ;  for  wiiom  I  despatched 
a  messenger  to  his  lodgings  hard  by. 

I  found  there,  in  the  front  parlor,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  four  gentlemen,  just  about  to  sit  dow^n  to  dinner. 
Surprising  !  there  was  Mr.  B.,  a  gentleman  of  fashion,  who  had 
only  within  half  an  hour  arrived  in  a  post-chaise,  with  his  com- 


86  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMAESH 


paiiion  Mr.  Lock,  an  officer  of  Horsham  gaoL  Mr.  B.  was 
arrested  in  this  wise  :  —  He  was  a  careless,  good-humored  gen- 
tleman, and  had  indorsed  bills  to  a  large  amount  for  a  friend  ; 
who,  a  man  of  high  family  and  unquestionable  honor,  had 
pledged  the  latter,  along  with  a  number  of  the  most  solemn 
oaths,  for  the  payment  of  the  bills  in  question.  Having  in- 
dorsed the  notes,  A  oung  Mr.  B.,  with  a  proper  thoughtlessness, 
forgot  all  about  them,  and  so,  hy  some  chance,  did  the  friend 
whom  he  obliged  ;  for,  instead  of  being  in  London  with  the 
mone}^  for  the  payment  of  his  obligations,  this  latter  gentle- 
man was  travelling  abroad,  and  never  hinted  one  word  to  Mr. 
B.  that  the  notes  would  fall  upon  him.  The  young  gentleman 
was  at  Brighton  lying  sick  of  a  fever ;  was  taken  from  his 
bed  b}'  a  bailiff,  and  carried,  on  a  rainy  day,  to  Llorsham  gaol ; 
had  a  relapse  of  his  complaint,  and  when  sufficiently  recovered, 
was  brought  up  to  London  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Aminadab  ; 
w^here  I  found  him — a  pale,  thin,  good-humored,  lost  3'oung 
man  :  he  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  had  given  orders  for  the 
dinner  to  which  I  was  invited.  The  lad's  face  gave  one  pain  to 
look  at ;  it  was  impossible  not  to  see  that  his  hours  were  num- 
-  bered. 

Now  Mr.  B.  has  not  anything  to  do  with  my  humble  stor}^ ; 
but  I  can't  help  mentioning  him,  as  I  saw  him.  He  sent  for 
his  lawyer  and  his  doctor ;  the  former  settled  speedil}^  his 
accounts  with  the  bailitf,  and  the  latter  arranged  all  his  earthly 
accounts  :  for  after  he  went  from  the  spunging-house  he  never 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  arrest,  and  in  a  few  weeks 
he  died.  And  though  this  circumstance  took  place  man}^  years 
ago,  I  can't  forget  it  to  my  d^ing  day  ;  and  often  see  the 
author  of  Mr.  B.'s  death,  —  a  prosperous  gentleman,  riding  a 
fine  horse  in  the  Park,  lounging  at  the  window  of  a  club  ;  with 
man}^  friends,  no  doubt,  and  a  good  reputation.  I  wonder 
whether  the  man  sleeps  easily  and  eats  with  a  good  appetite? 
I  wonder  whether  he  has  paid  Mr.  B.'s  heirs  the  sum  which 
that  gentleman  paid,  and  died  for  ? 

If  Mr.  B.'s  histor}^  has  nothing  to  do  with  mine,  and  is 
onl}^  inserted  here  for  the  sake  of  a  moral,  what  business  have 
I  to  mention  particulars  of  the  dinner  to  which  I  was  treated 
by  that  gentleman,  in  the  spunging-house  in  Cursitor  Street? 
Why,  for  the  moral,  too  ;  and  thcn^fore  the  public  must  be 
told  of  what  really  and  truly  tliat  dinner  consisted. 

There  were  five  guests,  and  three  silver  tureens  of  soup  : 
viz.  mock-turtle  soup,  ox-tail  sou[),  and  giblet-soup.  Next 
came  a  great  piece  of  salmon,   likewise  on  a  silver  dish,  a 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  87 


roast  goose,  a  roast  saddle  of  mutton,  roast  game  and  all 
sorts  of  adjuncts.  In  this  way  can  a  gentleman  live  in  a 
spunging-house  if  he  be  inclined  ;  and  over  this  repast  (which, 
in  truth,  I  could  not  touch,  for,  let  alone  having  dined,  my 
heart  was  full  of  care)  —  over  this  meal  my  friend  Gus  IIos- 
kins  found  me,  when  he  received  the  letter  that  I  had  de- 
spatched to  him. 

Gus,  who  had  never  been  in  prison  before,  and  whose  heart 
failed  him  as  the  red-headed  young  Moses  opened  and  shut  for 
him  the  numerous  iron  outer  doors,  was  struck  dumb  to  see  me 
behind  a  bottle  of  claret,  in  a  room  blazing  with  gilt  lamps  ; 
the  curtains  were  down  too,  and  you  could  not  see  the  bars  at 
the  windows;  and  Mr.  B.,  Mr.  Lock  the  Brighton  officer,  Mr. 
Aminadab,  and  another  rich  gentleman  of  his  trade  and  re- 
ligious persuasion,  were  chirping  as  merrily,  and  looked  as 
respectably,  as  any  noblemen  in  the  land. 

Have  him  in,"  said  Mr.  B.,  ''if  he's  a  friend  of  Mr.  Tit- 
marsh's  ;  for,  cuss  me,  I  like  to  see  a  rogue :  and  run  me 
through,  Titmarsh,  but  I  think  you  are  one  of  the  best  in  Lon- 
don. You  beat  Brough  ;  you  do,  b}^  Jove  !  for  he  looks  like  a 
rogue  —  anybody  would  swear  to  him  :  but  you  !  by  Jove,  you 
look  the  yery  picture  of  honesty  !  " 

A  deep  file,"  said  Aminadab,  winking  and  pointing  me  out 
to  his  friend  Mr.  Jehoshaphat. 

"  A  good  one,"  says  Jehoshaphat. 
In  for  three  hundred  thousand  pound,"  says  Aminadab  : 
"  Brough's  right-hand  man,  and  onl}-  three-and-twenty." 

"  Mr.  Titmarsh,  sir,  your  'ealth,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Lock,  in  an 
ecstasy  of  admiration.  Y'our  ver}^  good  'ealth,  sir,  and  bet- 
ter luck  to  you  next  time." 

''Pooh,  pooh!  he's  all  right,"  says  Aminadab  ;  "let  him 
alone." 

"  In  for  lohatV  shouted  I,  quite  amazed.  Why,  sir,  3^ou 
arrested  me  for  90^." 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  in  for  half  a  million,  — 3^ouknow  you  are. 
Them  debts  I  don't  count  —  them  paltry  tradesmen's  accounts. 
I  mean  Brough's  business.  It's  an  ugly  one  ;  but  you'll  get 
through  it.  We  all  know  3^ou  ;  and  I  lay  my  hfe  that  when 
you  come  through  the  court,  Mrs.  Titmarsh  has  got  a  handsome 
thing  laid  by." 

"  Mrs.  Titmarsh  has  a  small  propert}',  sir,"  says  L  "  What 
then?" 

The  three  gentlemen  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  said  I  was  a 
*'rum  chap"  —  a  "downy  cove,"  and  made  other  remarks 


88  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


which  I  could  not  understand  then  ;  but  the  meaning  of  which  I 
have  since  comprehended,  for  they  took  me  to  be  a  great  ras- 
cal, I  am  sorr}^  to  say,  and  supposed  that  I  had  robbed  the 
I.  W.  D.  Association,  and,  in  order  to  make  my  money  secure, 
settled  it  on  m}^  wife. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  conversation  that,  as  I  said,  Gus 
came  in  ;  and  whew  !  when  he  saw  what  was  going  on,  he  gave 
suck  a  whistle  ! 

'-^  Herr  von  Joel,  by  Jove  !  "  says  Aminadab.  At  which  all 
laughed. 

''Sit  down,''  says  Mr.  B., — "sit  down,  and  wet  your 
whistle,  my  piper !  I  say,  egad  !  you're  the  piper  that  played 
before  Moses  I  Had  you  there,  Dab.  Dab,  get  a  fresh  bottle 
of  Burgundy  for  Mr.  Hoskins."  And  before  he  knew  where 
he  was,  there  was  Gus  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  drinking 
Clot-Vougeot.  Gus  said  he  had  never  tasted  Bergamy  before, 
at  which  the  baililf  sneered,  and  told  him  the  name  of  the  wine. 

"  Old  Clo!  What?"  says  Gus;  and  we  laughed:  but  the 
Hebrew  gents  did  not  this  time. 

"Come,  come,  sir!"  saj's  Mr.  Aminadab's  friend,  "  ve're 
all  shentlemen  here,  and  shentlemen  never  makish  reflexunsh 
upon  other  gentlemen'sh  pershuashunsh." 

After  this  feast  was  concluded,  Gus  and  I  retired  to  my  room 
to  consult  about  my  affairs.  With  regard  to  the  responsibihty 
iri^jurred  as  a  sharehokler  in  the  West  Diddlesex,  I  was  not 
uneasy ;  for  though  the  matter  might  cause  me  a  little  trouble 
at  first,  I  knew  I  was  not  a  shareholder ;  that  the  shares  were 
scrip  shares,  making  the  dividend  payable  to  the  bearer ;  and 
my  aunt  had  called  back  her  shares,  and  consequently  I  was 
free.  But  it  was  ver}'  unpleasant  to  me  to  consider  that  I 
was  in  debt  nearly  a  hundred  pounds  to  tradesmen,  chief!}'  of 
Mrs.  Hoggarty's  recommendation  ;  and  as  she  had  promised  to 
be  answerable  for  their  bills,  I  determined  to  send  her  a  letter 
reminding  her  of  her  promise,  and  begging  her  at  the  same 
time  to  relieve  me  from  Mr.  Von  Stiltz's  debt,  for  which  I  was 
arrested  :  and  which  was  incurred  not  ceilainl}^  at  her  desire, 
but  at  Mr.  Brougli's  ;  and  would  never  have  been  incurred  b}' 
me  but  at  the  al)8ohite  demand  of  that  gentleman. 

I  wrote  to  her,  therefore,  begging  her  to  pay  all  these  debts, 
and  promised  myself  on  Monday  morning  again  to  be  with  my 
dear  wife.  Gus  carried  off  the  letter,  and  promised  to  deliver 
it  in  I>ernard  Street  after  church-time  ;  taking  care  that  Mary 
should  know  nothing  at  all  of  the  [)ainrul  situation  in  which  I 
was  placed.    It  was  near  midnight  when  we  [)arted,  and  I  tried 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  89 


to  sleep  as  well  as  I  could  in  the  dirty  little  sofa-bedstead  of 
Mr.  Aminadab's  back-parlor. 

That  morning  was  fine  and  sunshiny,  and  I  heard  all  the 
bells  ringing  cheerfully  for  church,  and  longed  to  be  walking 
to  the  Foundling  with  my  wife  :  but  there  were  the  three  iron 
doors  between  me  and  liberty,  and  I  had  nothing  for  it  but  to 
read  my  pra3'ers  in  my  own  room,  and  walk  up  and  down  after- 
wards in  the  court  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Would  you 
believe  it?  This  very  court  was  like  a  cage  !  Great  iron  bars 
covered  it  in  from  one  end  to  another ;  and  here  it  was  that 
Mr.  Aminadab's  gaol-birds  took  the  air. 

They  had  seen  me  reading  out  of  the  prayer-book  at  the 
back-parlor  window,  and  all  burst  into  a  yell  of  laughter  when 
I  came  to  walk  in  the  cage.  One  of  them  shouted  out  Amen  V* 
when  1  appeared  ;  another  called  me  a  muff  (which  means,  in 
the  slang  language,  a  very  silly  fellow)  ;  a  third  wondered  that 
I  took  to  m}^  prayer-book  yet. 

When  do  you  mean,  sir?  "  says  I  to  the  fellow  —  a  rough 
man,  a  horse-dealer. 

Why,  when  you  are  going  to  be  hanged^  you  young  hypo- 
crite !  "  saj's  the  man.  ''But  that  is  always  the  way  with 
Brough's  people,"  continued  he.  I  had  four  grays  once  for 
him  —  a  great  bargain,  but  he  would  not  go  to  look  at  them 
at  Tattersairs,  nor  speak  a  word  of  business  about  them,  be- 
cause it  was  a  Sunda}'." 

Because  there  are  hypocrites,  sir,"  says  I,  ''  religion  is  not 
to  be  considered  a  bad  thing ;  and  if  Mr.  Brough  would  not  » 
deal  with  you  on  a  Sunday,  he  certainly  did  his  duty." 

The  men  only  laughed  the  more  at  this  rebuke,  and  evidently 
considered  me  a  great  criminal.  I  was  glad  to  be  released  from 
their  societ}^  by  the  appearance  of  Gus  and  Mr.  Smithers.  Both 
wore  very  long  faces.  They  were  ushered  into  my  room,  and, 
without  any  orders  of  mine,  a  bottle  of  wine  and  biscuits  were 
brought  in  b}^  Mr.  Aminadab  ;  which  I  really-  thought  was  very 
kind  of  him. 

"Drink  a  glass  of  wine,  Mr.  Titmarsh,"  says  Smithers, 
and  read  this  letter.     A  pretty  note  was  that  which  you 
sent  to  your  aunt  this  morning,  and  here  you  have  an  answer 
to  it." 

1  drank  the  wine,  and  trembled  rather  as  I  read  as  follows  :  — 

"Sir,  —  If,  because  you  knew  I  had  desined  to  leave  you  my  propart}^ 
you  wished  to  murdar  me,  and  so  stepp  into  it,  you  are  dissapointed.  Your 
villiany  and  ingratatude  ivould  have  murdared  me,  had  I  not,  by  Heaven's 
grace,  been  inabled  to  look  for  consalation  elsewhere. 


90  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMAKSH 


"  For  nearly  a  year  I  have  been  a  mavfar  to  you.  I  gave  up  everything, — 
my  happy  home  in  the  country,  where  all  respected  the  name  of  Hoggarty  ; 
my  valuble  furnitur  and  wines;  my  plate,  glass,  and  crockry  ;  I  brought 
all  —  all  to  make  your  home  happy  and  rispectable.  I  put  up  with  the  airs 
and  imperfanencies  of  Mrs.  Titmarsh ;  I  loaded  her  and  you  with  presents 
and  bennafits.  I  sacrafised  myself  ;  I  gave  up  the  best  sociaty  in  the  land, 
to  witch  I  have  been  accustomed,  in  order  to  be  a  gardian  and  compannion 
to  you,  and  prevent,  if  possible,  that  waist  and  ixtravi/gance  which  I  prophy- 
cied  would  be  your  ruin.  Such  waist  and  ixtravygance  never,  never,  never 
did  I  see.  Buttar  waisted  as  if  it  had  been  dirt,  coles  flung  away,  candles 
burnt  at  both  ends,  tea  and  meat  the  same.  The  butcher's  bill  in  this  house 
was  enough  to  support  six  famalies. 

And  now  you  have  the  audassaty,  being  placed  in  prison  justly  for 
your  crimes, — for  cheating  me  of  3,000/.,  for  robbing  your  mother  of  an 
insignificient  summ,  which  to  her,  poor  thing,  was  everything  (though  she 
will  not  feel  her  loss  as  I  do,  being  all  her  life  next  door  to  a  beggar),  for 
rncurring  detts  which  you  cannot  pay,  wherein  you  knew  that  your  misera- 
ble income  was  quite  unable  to  support  your  ixtravygance  —  you  come  upon 
me  to  pay  your  detts !  No,  sir,  it  is  quite  enough  that  your  mother  should 
go  on  the  parish,  and  that  your  wife  should  sweep  the  streets,  to  which  you 
have  indeed  brought  them ;  /,  at  least,  though  cheated  by  you  of  a  large 
summ,  and  obliged  to  pass  my  days  in  comparitive  ruin,  can  retire,  and 
have  some  of  the  comforts  to  which  my  rank  entitles  me.  The  furnitur  in 
this  house  is  mine ;  and  as  1  presume  you  intend  your  lady  to  sleep  in  the 
streets,  I  give  you  warning  that  I  shall  remove  it  all  to-morrow. 

"  Mr.  Smithers  will  tell  you  that  I  had  intended  to  leave  you  my  intire 
fortune.  I  have  this  morning,  in  his  presents,  solamly  toar  up  my  will ; 
and  hereby  renounce  all  connection  with  you  and  your  beggarly  family. 

"  Susan  Hoggarty. 

"  P.S.  —  I  took  a  viper  into  my  bosom,  and  it  stung  me." 

I  confess  that,  on  the  first  reading  of  this  letter,  I  was  in 
such  a  fury  that  I  forgot  ahuost  the  painful  situation  in  which  it 
plunged  me,  and  the  ruin  hanging  over  me. 

What  a  fool  you  were,  Titmarsh,  to  write  that  letter  !  "  said 
Mr.  Smithers.  You  have  cut  3'our  own  throat,  sir,  —  lost  a 
fine  property, — written  yourself  out  of  five  hundred  a  year. 
Mrs.  Hoggarty,  ray  client,  brought  the  will,  as  she  says,  down 
stairs,  and  flung  it  into  the  fire  before  our  faces." 

"  It's  a  blessing  that  your  wife  was  from  home,"  added  Gus. 
She  went  to  church  this  morning  with  Dr.  Salt's  famil}',  and 
sent  word  that  she  would  spend  the  day  with  them.    She  was 
always  glad  to  be  away  from  Mrs.  H.,  3^ou  know." 

"  She  never  knew  on  which  side  her  bread  was  buttered," 
said  Mr.  Smithers.  "You  should  have  taken  the  lady  when 
she  was  in  the  humor,  sir,  and  have  borrowed  the  money  else- 
where. Why,  sir,  I  had  almost  reconciled  her  to  her  loss  in 
that  cursed  company.  I  showed  her  how  I  had  saved  out  of 
trough's  claws  the  whole  of  lier  remaining  fortune  ;  which  he 
would  have  devoured  in  a  day,  the  scoundrel !    And  if  you 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  91 


would  have  loft  the  matter  to  me,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  would  have 
had  you  reconciled  completely  to  Mrs.  Hoggarty  ;  I  would  have 
removed  all  your  difficulties  '^1  would  have  lent  you  the  pitiful 
sum  of  money  myself." 

Will  you?"  says  Gus ;  ''that's  a  trump  !"  and  he  seized 
Smithers's  hand,  and  squeezed  it  so  that  the  tears  came  into  the 
attorney's  e3^es. 

''Generous  fellow !"  said  I;  ''lend  me  moneyKwhen  you 
know  what  a  situation  I  am  in,  and  not  able  to  pa}^ !  '  . 

"  Ay,  my  good  sir,  there's  the  rub  !  "  says  Mr.  Smithers.  "  I 
said  I  would  have  lent  the  money  ;  and  so  to  the  acknowledged 
heir  of  Mrs.  Hoggarty  I  would  —  would  at  this  moment;  for 
nothing  delights  the  heart  of  Bob  Smithers  more  than  to  do  a 
kindness.  I  would  have  rejoiced  in  doing  it ;  and  a  mere  ac- 
knowledgment from  that  respected  lady  would  have  amply  suf- 
ficed. But  now,  sir,  the  case  is  altered,  —  you  have  no  security 
to  offer,  as  3^ou  justl}'  observe." 

"  Not  a  whit,  certainly." 

"And  without  security,  sir,  of  course  can  expect  no  money 
—  of  course  not.  You  are  a  man  of  the  world,  Mr.  Titmarsh, 
and  I  see  our  notions  exactly  agree." 

"  There's  his  wife's  propert}^"  says  Gus. 

"Wife's  property?  Bah  !  Mrs.  Sam  Titmarsh  is  a  minor, 
and  can't  touch  a  shilling  of  it.  No,  no,  no  meddling  with 
minors  for  me  !  But  stop  !  —  your  mother  has  a  house  and  shop 
in  our  village.    Get  me  a  mortgage  of  that  —  " 

"  I'll  do  no  such  thing,  sir,"  says  I.  "  My  mother  has  suf- 
fered quite  enough  on  m}'  score  already,  and  has  m}^  sisters  to 
provide  for  ;  and  I  will  thank  you,  Mr.  Smithers,  not  to  breathe 
a  syllable  to  her  regarding  m}'  present  situation." 

"You  speak  like  a  man  of  honor,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Smithers, 
"and  I  will  obey  your  injunctions  to  the  letter.  I  will  do 
more,  sir.  I  will  introduce  3'ou  to  a  respectable  firm  here,  my 
worthy  friends,  Messrs.  Higgs,  Biggs,  and  Blatherwick,  who 
will  do  everything  in  their  power  to  serve  you.  And  so,  sir,  I 
wish  3'ou  a  very  good  morning." 

And  with  this  Mr.  Smithers  took  his  hat  and  left  the  room  ; 
and  after  a  further  consultation  with  my  aunt,  as  I  heard  after- 
wards, quitted  London  that  evening  by  the  mail. 

I  sent  my  faithful  Gus  oflT  once  more  to  break  the  matter 
gently  to  my  wife,  fearing  lest  Mrs.  Hoggart}'  should  speak  of 
it  abruptl}'  to  her  ;  as  I  knew  in  her  anger  she  would  do.  But 
he  came  in  an  hour  panting  back,  to  sa}'  that  Mrs.  H.  had 
packed  and  locked  her  trunks,  and  had  gone  off  in  a  hackney- 


92 


THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


coach.  So  knowing  that  my  poor  Marj  was  not  to  return  till 
night,  Hoskins  remained  with  me  till  then  ;  and,  after  a  dismal 
day,  left  me  once  more  at  nine,  It)  carry  the  dismal  tidings  to 
her. 

At  ten  o'clock  on  that  night  there  was  a  great  rattUng  and 
ringing  at  the  outer  door,  and  presentl}^  my  poor  girl  fell  into 
m\'  arms  ;  and  Gus  Hoskins  sat  blubbering  in  a  corner,  as  I 
tried  my/^^st  to  console  her. 

The  next  morning  I  was  favored  with  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Blather  wick ;  who,  hearing  from  me  that  I  had  only  three 
guineas  in  my  pocket,  told  me  \ery  plainlj'  that  lawyers  onl}^ 
lived  hy  fees.  He  recommended  me  to  quit  Cursitor  Street, 
as  living  there  was  very  expensive.  And  as  I  was  sitting 
ver}^  sad,  m}'  wife  made  her  appearance  (it  was  with  great 
difficult}^  that  she  could  be  brought  to  leave  me  the  night 
previous),  — 

"  The  horrible  men  came  at  four  this  morning,"  said  she; 
four  hours  before  hght." 

What  horrible  men?"  sa3^s  I. 

"Your  aunt's  men,"  said  she,  ''to  remove  the  furniture; 
the}'  had  it  all  packed  before  I  came  away.  And  I  let  them 
carr}'  all,"  said  she  :  "I  was  too  sad  to  look  what  was  ours  and 
what  was  not.  That  odious  Mr.  Wapshot  was  with  them  ;  and 
I  left  him  seeing  the  last  wagon-load  from  the  door.  I  have 
only  brought  away  3'our  clothes,"  added  she,  "and  a  few  of 
mine ;  and  some  of  the  books  3'ou  used  to  like  to  read  ;  and 
some  —  some  things  I  have  been  getting  for  the  —  for  the  bab3\ 
The  servants'  wages  were  paid  up  to  Christmas ;  and  I  paid 
them  the  rest.  And  see !  just  as  I  was  going  away,  the  post 
came,  and  brought  to  me  my  half-3'ear's  income  —  35/.,  dear 
Sam.    Isn't  it  a  blessing?" 

"  Will  you  pay  my  bill,  Mr.  What-d'3'e-cairim  !  "  here  cried 
Mr.  Aminadab,  flinging  open  the  door  (he  had  been  consulting 
with  Mr.  Bhitherwick,  I  suppose).  "I  want  the  room  for  a 
gentleman,  I  guess  it's  too  dear  for  the  like  of  you."  And 
here  —  will  you  believe  it?  —  the  man  handed  me  a  bill  of 
three  guineas  for  two  da3's'  board  and  lodging  in  his  odious 
house. 

There  was  a  crowd  of  idlers  round  the  door  as  I  passed  out 
of  it,  and  had  I  been  alone  I  should  have  been  ashamed  of  see- 
ing th(!m  ;  but,  as  it  was,  I  was  only  thinking  of  my  dear,  dear 
wife,  who  was  leaning  trustfull}'  on  m3'  arm,  and  smiling  like 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGG  ARTY  DIAMOND.  03 


heaven  into  my  face  —  ay,  and  took  heaven,  too,  into  the  Fleet 
Prison  with  me  —  or  an  angel  out  of  heaven.  Ah  !  I  had  loved 
her  before,  and  happy  it  is  to  love  when  one  is  hopeful  and 
young  in  the  midst  of  smiles  and  sunshine  ;  but  be  wrJiappy, 
and  then  see  what  it  is  to  be  loved  by  a  good  woman  !  I 
declare  before  heaven,  that  of  all  the  joys  and  happy  moments 
it  has  given  me,  that  was  the  crowning  one  —  that  little  ride, 
with  my  wife's  cheek  on  my  shoulder,  down  Holborn  to  the 
prison  !  Do  you  think  I  cared  for  the  bailiff'  that  sat  opposite  ?^ 
No,  by  the  Lord  !  I  kissed  her,  and  hugged  her  —  yes,  and 
cried  with  her  likewise.  But  before  our  ride  was  over  her  eyes 
dried  up,  and  she  stepped  blushing  and  happy  out  of  the  coach 
at  the  prison-door,  as  if  she  were  a  princess  going  to  the  Queen's 
drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TN  WHICH  THE  HERO's  AUNT's  DIAMOND  MAKES  ACQUAINTANCE 
WITH  THE  hero's  UNCLE. 

The  failure  of  the  great  Diddlesex  Association  speedily  be- 
came the  theme  of  all  the  newspapers,  and  ever}^  person  con- 
cerned in  it  was  soon  held  up  to  public  abhorrence  as  a  rascal 
and  a  swindler.  It  was  said  that  Brough  had  gone  off  with  a 
million  of  monej'.  Even  it  was  hinted  that  poor  I  had  sent  a 
hundred  thousand  pounds  to  America,  and  onl}'  waited  to  pass 
through  the  court  in  order  to  be  a  rich  man  for  the  rest  of  ni}^ 
days.  This  opinion  had  some  supporters  in  the  prison  ;  where 
strange  to  say,  it  procured  me  consideration  —  of  which,  as 
may  be  supposed,  I  was  httle  inchned  to  avail  myself.  Mr. 
Aminadab,  how^ever,  in  his  frequent  visits  to  the  Fleet,  persisted 
in  saying  that  I  was  a  poor-spirited  creature,  a  mere  tool  in 
Brough's  hands,  and  had  not  saved  a  shilling.  Opinions,  how- 
ever, differed  ;  and  I  believe  it  was  considered  by  the  turnkeys 
that  I  was  a  fellow  of  exquisite  dissimulation,  who  had  put  on 
the  appearance  of  poverty  in  order  more  effectually  to  mislead 
the  public. 

Messrs.  Abednego  and  Son  were  similarly  held  up  to  public 
odium :  and,  in  fact,  what  were  the  exact  dealings  of  these  gen- 
tlemen with  Mr.  Brough  I  have  never  been  able  to  learn.  It 


94  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


was  proved  b}'  the  books  that  large  sums  of  mone)'  had  been 
paid  to  Mr.  Abednego  b}-  the  Company' ;  but  he  produced  docu- 
ments signed  b}^  Mr.  Brough,  which  made  the  latter  and  the 
AYest  Diddlesex  Association  his  debtors  to  a  still  further 
amount.  On  the  day  I  went  to  the  Bankruptc}^  Court  to  be 
examined,  Mr.  Abednego  and  the  two  gentlemen  from  Hounds- 
ditch  were  present  to  swear  to  their  debts,  and  made  a  sad 
noise,  and  uttered  a  vast  number  of  oaths  in  attestation  of  their 
ckiim.  But  Messrs.  Jackson  and  Paxton  produced  against 
'  diem  that  veiy  Irish  porter  who  was  said  to  have  been  the 
cause  of  the  fire,  and,  I  am  told,  hinted  that  the}^  had  matter 
for  hanging  the  Jewish  gents  if  they  persisted  in  their  demand. 
On  this  they  disappeared  altogether,  and  no  more  was  ever  heard 
of  their  losses.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  our  director  had 
had  mone}^  from  Abednego  —  had  given  him  shares  as  bonus 
and  security  —  had  been  suddenlj'  obliged  to  redeem  these 
shares  with  ready  money  ;  and  so  had  precipitated  the  ruin  of 
himself  and  the  concern.  It  is  needless  to  sa^^  here  in  what 
a  multiplicity  of  companies  Brough  was  engaged.  That  in 
which  poor  Mr.  Tidd  invested  his  money  did  not  pa}'  2d, 
in  the  pound  ;  and  that  was  the  largest  dividend  paid  by  an}^ 
of  tliem. 

As  for  ours  —  ah  I  there  was  a  pretty  scene  as  I  was  brought 
from  the  Fleet  to  the  Bankruptcy  Court,  to  give  my  testimony  as 
late  head  clerk  and  accountant  of  the  West  Diddlesex  Asso- 
ciation. 

My  poor  wife,  then  very  near  her  time,  insisted  upon  ac- 
companying me  to  Basinghall  Street ;  and  so  did  my  friend 
Gus  Iloskins,  that  true  and  honest  fellow.  If  you  had  seen 
the  crowd  that  was  assembled,  and  the  hubbub  that  was  made 
as  I  was  brought  up  ! 

''Mr.  Titmarsh,"  says  the  Commissioner  as  I  came  to  the 
table,  with  a  peculiar  sarcastic  accent  on  the  Tit —  "  Mr.  Tit- 
marsh,  you  were  the  confidant  of  Mr.  Brough,  the  principal 
clerk  of  Mr.  Brough,  and  a  considerable  shareholder  in  the 
company-  ?  " 

Only  a  nominal  one,  sir,"  said  I. 

''Of  course,  only  nominal,"  continued  the  Commissioner, 
turning  to  his  colleague  with  a  sneer ;  "  and  a  great  comfort  it 
must  be  to  you,  sir,  to  think  that  you  had  a  share  in  all  the 
phm — tlie  jn-ofits  of  the  specuhition,  and  now  can  free  yourself 
from  the  losses,  by  saying  you  are  only  a  nominal  share- 
holder." 

"The  infernal  villain  ! "  shouted  out  a  voice  from  the  crowd. 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  95 


It  was  that  of  the  furious  half-pa}^  captahi  and  late  shareholder, 
Captaui  Sparr. 

Silence  in  the  court  there  !  "  the  Commissioner  continued  : 
and  all  this  while  Mary  was  anxiously  looking  in  his  face,  and 
then  in  mine,  as  pale  as  death  ;  while  Gus,  on  the  contrary,  was 
as  red  as  vermilion.  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  have  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  see  a  list  of  your  debts  from  the  Insolvent  Court,  and 
find  that  you  are  indebted  to  Mr.  Stiltz,  the  great  tailor,  in  a 
handsome  sum ;  to  Mr.  Polonius,  the  celebrated  jeweller,  like- 
wise ;  to  fashionable  milliners  and  dress-makers,  moreover ;  — 
and  all  this  upon  a  salary  of  200/.  per  annum.  For  so  young  a 
gentleman,  it  must  be  confessed  you  have  employed  your  time 
well." 

"Has  this  anything  to  do  with  the  question,  sir?"  says  I. 
"  Am  I  here  to  give  an  account  of  my  private  debts,  or  to 
speak  as  to  what  I  know  regarding  the  affairs  of  the  company? 
As  for  my  share  in  it,  I  have  a  mother,  sir,  and  many  sis- 
ters —  " 

"  The  d — d  scoundrel !  "  shouts  the  captain. 

"  Silence  that  there  fellow  !  "  shouts  Gus,  as  bold  as  brass  ; 
at  which  the  court  burst  out  laughing,  and  this  gave  me  courage 
to  proceed. 

"  My  mother,  sir,  four  years  since,  having  a  legacy  of  400/. 
left  to  ifier,  advised  with  her  sohcitor,  Mr.  Smithers,  how  she 
should  dispose  of  this  sum  ;  and  as  the  Independent  West  Did- 
dlesex  was  just  then  established,  the  money  was  placed  in  an 
annuit}'  in  that  office,  where  I  procured  a  clerkship.  You  may 
suppose  me  a  ver}^  hardened  criminal,  because  I  have  ordered 
clothes  of  Mr.  Von  Stiltz  ;  but  3'ou  will  hardly  fancy  that  I, 
a  lad  of  nineteen,  knew  anything  of  the  concerns  of  the  com- 
pany into  whose  service  I  entered  as  twentieth  clerk,  m}'  own 
mother's  money  paying,  as  it  were,  for  my  place.  Well,  sir, 
the  interest  offered  by  the  company  was  so  tempting,  that  a 
rich  relative  of  mine  was  induced  to  purchase  a  number  of 
shares." 

Who  induced  your  relative,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to 
inquire?  " 

"  I  can't  help  owning,  sir,"  sa3'S  I,  blushing,  "  that  I  wrote 
a  letter  mj  self.  But  consider,  my  relative  was  sixt}'  years  old, 
and  I  was  twentj'-one.  M3'  relative  took  several  months  to  con- 
sider, and  had  the  advice  of  her  lawyers  before  she  acceded  to 
my  request.  And  I  made  it  at  the  instigation  of  Mr.  B rough, 
who  dictated  the  letter  which  I  wrote,  and  who  I  reall}^  thought 
then  yras  as  rich  as  Mr.  Rothschild  himself." 


96  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


"  Your  friend  placed  her  money  in  your  name  ;  and  3"0U,  if 
I  mistake  not,  Mr.  Titmarsli,  were  suddenly  placed  over  the 
heads  of  twelve  of  your  fellow-clerks  as  a  reward  for  your  ser- 
vice in  obtaining  it?" 

'^It  is  very  true,  sir,"  —  and,  as  I  confessed  it,  poor  Mary 
began  to  wipe  her  e3^es,  and  Gus's  ears  (I  could  not  see  his 
face)  looked  like  two  red-hot  muffins  —  ''it's  quite  true,  sir; 
and  as  matters  have  turned  out,  I  am  heartily  sorry  for  what  I 
did.  But  at  the  time  I  thought  I  could  serve  my  aunt  as  well 
as  myself ;  and  you  must  remember,  then,  how  high  our  shares 
were." 

''Well,  sir,  having  procured  this  sum  of  money  you  were 
straightway  taken  into  Mr.  Brough's  confidence.  You  were  re- 
ceived into  his  house,  and  from  third  clerk  speedily  became 
head  clerk ;  in  which  post  3'ou  were  found  at  the  disappearance 
of  your  worthy  patron  !  " 

"  Sir,  3^ou  have  no  right  to  question  me,  to  be  sure  ;  but  here 
are  a  hlmdred  of  our  shareholders,  and  Fm  not  unwilling  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it,"  said  I,  pressing  Mar^^'s  hand.  "  I 
certainly  was  the  head  clerk.  And  why?  Because  the  other 
gents  left  the  office.  I  certainl}'  was  received  into  Mr. 
Brough's  house.  And  why?  Because,  sir,  my  aunt  had  more 
money  to  lay  out,  I  see  it  all  clearly  now,  though  I  could  not 
understand  it  then  ;  and  the  proof  that  Mr.  Brough  wanted  my 
aunt's  mone}',  and  not  me,  is  that,  when  she  came  to  town,  our 
director  carried  her  b}"  force  out  of  my  house  to  Fulham,  and 
never  so  much  as  thought  of  asking  me  or  my  wife  thither. 
Ay,  sir,  and  he  would  have  had  her  remaining  mone}',  had  not 
her  lawyer  from  the  countr}^  prevented  her  disposing  of  it.  Be- 
fore the  concern  finally  broke,  and  as  soon  as  she  heard  there 
was  doubt  concerning  it,  she  took  back  her  shares  —  scrip 
shares  they  were,  sir,  as  3'ou  know  —  and  has  disposed  of  Ihem 
as  she  thought  fit.  Here,  sir,  and  gents,"  says  I,  "you  have 
the  whole  of  the  historj^  as  far  as  regards  me.  In  order  to  get 
her  only  son  a  means  of  livelihood,  my  mother  placed  her  little 
money  with  the  company  —  it  is  lost.  My  aunt  invested  larger 
sums  with  it,  which  were  to  have  been  mine  one  day,  and  tliey 
are  lost  too  ;  and  here  am  I,  at  the  end  of  four  3'ears,  a  dis- 
graced and  ruined  man.  Is  there  any  one  present,  however 
much  he  has  suffered  bv^  the  failure  of  the  compan3',  that  has 
had  worse  fortune  through  it  than  I?" 

"  Mr.  Titniarsh,"  says  Mr.  Commissioner,  in  a  much  more 
friendly  way,  and  at  the  same  time  casting  a  glance  at  a  news- 
paper reporter  that  was  sitting  hard  by,  "your  story  is  not 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  97 


likely  to  get  into  the  newspapers ;  for,  as  you  say,  it  is  a 
private  affair,  which  you  had  no  need  to  speak  of  unless  3'ou 
thought  proper,  and  may  be  considered  as  a  confidential  con- 
versation between  us  and  the  other  gentlemen  here.  But  if  it 
could  be  made  public,  it  might  do  some  good,  and  warn  people, 
if  they  will  be  warned,  against  the  folly  of  such  enterprises  as 
that  in  which  you  have  been  engaged.  It  is  quite  clear,  from 
your  story,  that  you  have  been  deceived  as  grossly  as  any 
one  of  the  persons  present.  But  look  you,  sir,  if  you  had 
not  been  so  eager  after  gain,  I  think  you  would  not  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  deceived,  and  would  have  kept  yowY  rela- 
tive's money,  and  inherited  it,  according  to  your  story,  one 
day  or  other.  Directly  people  expect  to  make  a  large  interest, 
their  judgment  seems  to  desert  them  ;  and  because  they  wish 
for  profit,  the}^  think  they  are  sure  of  it,  and  disregard  all 
warnings  and  all  prudence.  Besides  the  hundreds  of  honest 
families  who  have  been  ruined  by  merely  placing  confidence  in 
this  association  of  yours,  and  who  deserve  the  heartiest  pity, 
there  are  hundreds  more  who  have  embarked  in  it,  like  3^our- 
self,  not  for  investment,  but  for  speculation  ;  and  these,  upon 
my  word,  deserve  the  fate  ihay  have  met  with.  As  long  as 
dividends  are  paid,  no  questions  are  asked  ;  and  Mr.  Brough 
might  have  taken  the  mone}^  for  his  shareholders  on  the  high- 
road, and  they  would  have  pocketed  it,  and  not  been  too 
curious.  But  what's  the  use  of  talking?  "  says  Mr.  Commis- 
sioner, in  a  passion:  ''here  is  one  rogue  detected,  and  a 
thousand  dupes  made  ;  and  if  another  swindler  starts  to-morrow, 
there  will  be  a  thousand  more  of  his  victims  round  this  table  a 
year  hence  ;  and  so,  I  suppose,  to  the  end.  And  now  let's  go 
to  business,  gentlemen,  and  excuse  this  sermon." 

After  giving  an  account  of  all  I  knew,  which  was  very  lit- 
tle, other  gents  who  were  emplo^'ed  in  the  concern  were  ex- 
amined ;  and  1  went  back  to  prison,  with  my  poor  little  wife 
on  m}'  arm.  We  had  to  pass  tlirough  the  crowd  in  the  rooms, 
and  my  heart  bled  as  I  saw,  amongst  a  score  of  others,  poor 
Gates,  Brougli's  porter,  w^lio  had  advanced  every  shilling  to 
his  master,  and  was  now,  with  ten  children,  houseless  and  pen- 
niless in  his  old  age.  Captain  Sparr  was  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, but  by  no  means  so  friendly  disposed  ;  for  while  Gates 
touched  his  hat,  as  if  I  had  been  a  lord,  the  little  captain 
came  forward  threatening  with  his  bamboo-cane,  and  swearing 
with  great  oaths  that  I  was  an  accomplice  of  Brough.  ''  Curse 
you  for  a  smooth-faced  scoundrel!"  says  he.  ''What  busi- 
ness have  you  to  ruin  an  English  gentleman,  as  3'ou  have  me?  " 

7 


08  THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMAKSH 


And  again  he  advanced  with  his  stick.  But  this  time,  officer 
as  he  was,  Giis  took  him  hy  the  collar,  and  shoved  him  back, 
and  said,  "  Look  at  the  lad}^  you  brute,  and  hold  3^our  tongue  !  " 
And  when  he  looked  at  my  wife's  situation.  Captain  Sparr  be- 
came redder  for  shame  than  he  had  before  been  for  anger. 
"  I'm  sorry  she's  married  to  such  a  good-for-nothing,"  muttered 
he,  and  fell  back  ;  and  my  poor  wife  and  I  walked  out  of  the 
court,  and  back  to  our  dismal  room  in  the  prison. 

It  was  a  hard  place  for  a  gentle  creature  like  her  to  be  con- 
fined in  ;  and  I  longed  to  have  some  of  m}^  relatives  with  her 
when  her  time  should  come.  But  her  grandmother  could  not 
leave  the  old  lieutenant ;  and  my  mother  had  written  to  say 
that,  as  Mrs.  Hoggarty  was  with  us,  she  was  quite  as  well  at 
home  with  her  children.  "  What  a  blessing  it  is  for  3'ou,  under 
3'our  misfortunes,"  continued  the  good  soul,  to  have  the  gen- 
erous purse  of  3'our  aunt  for  succor !  "  Generous  purse  of  my 
aunt,  indeed!  Where  could  Mrs.  Hoggarty  be?  It  was  evi- 
dent that  she  had  not  written  to  any  of  her  friends  in  the 
countr}^,  nor  gone  thither,  as  she  threatened. 

But  as  my  mother  had  alread}'  lost  so  much  money  through 
m}^  unfortunate  luck,  and  as  she  had  enough  to  do  with  her 
little  pittance  to  keep  my  sisters  at  home  ;  and  as,  on  hear- 
ing of  my  condition,  she  would  infallibly  have  sold  her  last 
gown  to  bring  me  aid,  Mary  and  I  agreed  that  we  would  not 
let  her  know  what  our  real  condition  was  —  bad  enough  !  heaven 
knows,  and  sad  and  cheerless.  Old  Lieutenant  Smith  had 
likewise  nothing  but  his  half-pay  and  his  rheumatism  ;  so  we 
were,  in  fact,  quite  friendless. 

That  period  of  my  life,  and  that  horrible  prison,  seem  to  me 
like  recollections  of  some  fever.  What  an  awful  place  !  —  not 
for  the  sadness,  strangely  enough,  as  I  thought,  but  for  the 
gayety  of  it ;  for  the  long  prison  galleries  were,  I  rememl)er, 
full  of  life  and  a  sort  of  grave  bustle.  All  day  and  all  night 
doors  were  clapping  to  and  fro ;  and  you  heard  loud  voices, 
oaths,  footsteps,  and  laughter.  Next  door  to  our  room  was 
one  where  a  man  sold  gin,  under  the  name  of  tape;  and  here, 
from  morning  till  night,  the  people  kept  up  a  horrible  revelry  ; 
and  sang  —  sad  songs  some  of  them  :  but  m}'  dear  little  girl 
was,  thank  God  !  unable  to  understand  the  most  part  of  their 
ribaklry.  She  never  used  to  go  out  till  night f^ill ;  and  all  day 
she  sat  working  at  a  little  store  of  caps  and  dresses  for  the  ex- 
pected stranger  —  and  not,  she  says  to  this  day,  unhappy. 
But  the  confinement  sickened  her,  wlio  had  been  used  to  hai)py 
country  air,  and  she  grew  daily  paler  and  paler. 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  99 


The  Fives'  Court  was  opposite  our  window  ;  and  here  I  used, 
very  unwillingl}'  at  first,  but  afterwards,  I  do  confess,  with 
much  eagerness,  to  take  a  couple  of  hours'  daily  sport.  Ah ! 
it  was  a  strange  place.  There  was  an  aristocracy^  there  as  else- 
^vhere,  —  amongst  other  gents,  a  son  of  my  Lord  Deuceace  ; 
and  many  of  the  men  in  the  prison  were  as  eager  to  walk  with 
him,  and  talked  of  his  family  as  knowingly,  as  if  they  were 
Bond  Street  bucks.  Poor  Tidd,  especially,  was  one  of  these. 
Of  all  his  fortune  he  had  nothing  left  but  a  dressing-case  and 
a  flowered  dressing-gown  ;  and  to  these  possessions  he  added  a 
fine  pair  of  moustaches,  with  which  the  poor  creature  strutted 
about ;  and  though  cursing  his  ill-fortune,  was,  I  do  believe,  as 
happy  whenever  his  friends  brought  him  a  guinea,  as  he  had 
been  during  his  brief  career  as  a  gentleman  on  town.  I  have 
seen  sauntering  dandies  in  watering-places  ogling  the  women, 
watching  eagerly  for  steamboats  and  stage-coaches  as  if  their 
hves  depended  upon  them,  and  strutting  all  day  in  jackets  up 
and  down  the  public  walks.  Well,  there  are  such  fellows  in 
prisons ;  quite  as  dandified  and  foolish,  only  a  little  more 
shabby  —  dandies  with  dirty  beards  and  holes  at  their  elbows. 

I  did  not  go  near  what  is  called  the  poor  side  of  the  prison 
—  I  dared  not,  that  was  the  fact.  But  our  little  stock  of  money 
w^as  running  low ;  and  my  heart  sickened  to  think  what  might 
be  my  dear  wife's  fate,  and  on  what  sort  of  a  couch  our  child 
might  be  born.  But  heaven  spared  me  that  pang, — heaven, 
and  my  dear,  good  friend,  Gus  Hoskins. 

The  attorneys  to  whom  Mr.  Smithers  recommended  me,  told 
me  that  I  could  get  leave  to  live  in  the  rules  of  the  Fleet,  could 
I  procure  sureties  to  the  marshal  of  the  prison  for  the  amount 
of  the  detainer  lodged  against  me;  but  though  1  looked  Mr. 
Blatherwick  hard  in  the  face,  he  never  oflTered  to  give  the  bail 
for  me,  and  I  knew  no  housekeeper  in  London  w4io  would  pro- 
cure it.  There  was,  however,  one  whom  I  did  not  know,  —  and 
that  was  old  Mr.  Hoskins,  the  leather-seller  of  Skinner  Street, 
a  kind  fat  gentleman,  who  brought  his  fat  wife  to  see  Mrs.  Tit- 
marsh  ;  and  though  the  lady  gave  herself  rather  patronizing 
airs,  (her  husband  being  free  of  the  Skinners'  Company,  and 
bidding  fair  to  be  Alderman,  nay.  Lord  Mayor  of  the  first  city 
in  the  world,)  she  seemed  heartily  to  sympathize  with  us  ;  and 
her  husband  stirred  and  bustled  about  until  the  requisite  leave 
was  obtained,  and  I  was  allowed  comparative  liberty. 

As  for  lodgings,  they  were  soon  had.  My  old  landlady, 
Mrs.  Stokes,  sent  her  Jemima  to  sa}"  that  her  first  floor  was  at 
our  service ;  and  when  we  had  taken  possession  of  it,  and  I 


100        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAIMUEL  TITMARSH 


offered  at  tlie  end  of  the  week  to  pa}^  her  bill,  the  good  soul, 
with  tears  in  her  e^'es,  told  me  that  she  did  not  want  for  mone}^ 
now,  and  that  she  knew  I  had  enough  to  do  with  what  I  had. 
I  did  not  refuse  her  kindness  ;  for,  indeed,  I  had  but  five 
guineas  left,  and  ought  not  by  rights  to  have  thought  of  such 
expensive  apartments  as  hers :  but  my  wife's  time  was  Yory 
near,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  she  should  want  for 
an}'  comfort  in  her  lying-in. 

That  admirable  woman,  with  whom  the  Misses  Iloskins  came 
every  day  to  keep  companj^  —  and  ver}'  nice,  kind  ladies  they 
are  —  recovered  her  health  a  good  deal,  now  she  was  out  of  the 
odious  prison  and  was  enabled  to  take  exercise.  How  gayly  did 
we  pace  up  and  down  Bridge  Street  and  Chatham  Place,  to  be 
sure !  and  yet,  in  truth,  I  was  a  beggar,  and  felt  sometimes 
ashamed  of  being  so  happ3\ 

With  regard  to  the  liabilities  of  the  Company"  m}'  mind  was 
now  made  quite  eas}' ;  for  the  creditors  could  only  come  upon 
our  directors,  and  these  it  was  rather  difficult  to  find.  Mr. 
Brough  was  across  the  water ;  and  I  must  say,  to  the  credit  of 
that  gentleman,  that  while  everybody  thought  he  had  run  awa}" 
with  hundreds  of  thousands  of  pounds,  he  was  in  a  garret  at 
Boulogne,  with  scarce  a  shiUing  in  his  pocket,  and  his  fortune 
to  make  afresh.  Mrs.  l>rough,  like  a  good,  brave  woman, 
remained  faithful  to  him,  and  only  left  Fulham  with  the  gown 
on  her  back  ;  and  Miss  Behnda,  though  grumbhng  and  sadly 
out  of  temper,  was  no  better  off*.  P^or  the  other  directors,— 
when  they  came  to  inquire  at  Edinburgh  for  Mr.  Mull,  W.S.,  it 
appeared  there  ivas  a  gentleman  of  that  name,  who  had  practised 
in  Edinburgh  with  good  reputation  until  1800,  since  when  he 
had  retired  to  the  Isle  of  Skye  ;  and  on  being  applied  to,  knew 
no  more  of  the  West  Diddlesex  Association  than  Queen  Anne 
did.  General  Sir  Dionysius  OMIalloran  had  abruptly  quitted 
Dublin,  and  returned  to  the  republic  of  Guatemala.  Mr.  Shirk 
went  into  the  Gazette,  Mr.  Macraw,  M.P.  and  King's  coun- 
sel, had  not  a  single  guinea  in  the  world  but  what  he  received 
for  attending  our  board  ;  and  the  only  man  seizable  was  Mr. 
]\Ianstraw,  a  wealthy  navy  contractor,  as  we  understood,  at 
Chatham.  He  turned  out  to  be  a  small  dealer  in  marine  stores, 
and  his  whole  stock  in  trade  was  not  worth  10/.  Mr.  Abednego 
was  tlie  other  director,  and  we  luive  already  seen  what  became 
of  him, 

Wliy,  as  there  is  no  danger  from  the  West  Diddlesex," 
suggested  Mr.  Hoskins,  senior,  should  you  not  now  endeavor 
to  make  an  arrangement  with  your  creditors  ;  and  w^ho  can 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  101 


make  a  better  bargain  with  them  than  pretty  Mrs.  Titmarsh 
here,  whose  sweet  eyes  would  soften  the  hardest-hearted  tailor 
or  miUiner  tliat  ever  Uved?" 

Accordingly,  my  dear  girl,  one  bright  day  in  Februar}^  shook 
me  by  the  hand,  and  bidding  me  be  of  good  cheer,  set  off  with 
Gus  in  a  coach,  to  pa}^  a  visit  to  those  persons.  Little  did  I 
think  a  yenr  before,  that  the  daughter  of  the  gallant  Smith 
should  ever  be  compelled  to  be  a  suppliant  to  tailors  and  haber- 
dashers ;  but  she,  heaven  bless  her !  felt  none  of  the  shame 
which  oppressed  me  —  or  said  she  felt  none  —  and  went  away, 
nothing  doubting,  on  her  errand. 

In  the  evening  she  came  back,  and  my  heart  thumped  to 
know  the  news.  I  saw  it  was  bad  by  her  face.  For  some  time 
she  did  not  speak,  but  looked  as  pale  as  death,  and  wept  as  she 
kissed  me.  Toa  speak,  Mr.  Augustus,"  at  last  said  she,  sob- 
bing ;  and  so  Gus  told  me  the  circumstances  of  that  dismal  day. 

What  do  yoa  think,  Sam?  sa^^s  he  ;  that  infernal  aunt 
of  3'ours,  at  whose  command  you  had  the  things,  has  written  to 
the  tradesmen  to  sa}^  that  3'ou  are  a  swindler  and  impostor ; 
that  3^ou  give  out  that  she  ordered  the  goods  ;  that  she  is  ready 
to  drop  down  dead,  and  to  take  her  bible-oath  she  never  did  any 
such  thing,  and  that  they  must  look  to  you.  alone  for  payment. 
Not  one  of  them  would  hear  of  letting  3^ou  out ;  and  as  for 
Mantalini,  the  scoundrel  was  so  insolent  that  I  gave  him  a  box 
on  the  ear,  and  would  have  half  killed  him,  only  poor  Mary  — 
Mrs.  Titmarsh  I  mean  —  screamed  and  fainted:  and  I  brought 
her  awa}',  and  here  she  is,  as  ill  as  can  be." 

That  night  the  indefatigable  Gus  was  obliged  to  run  post- 
haste for  Dr.  Salts,  and  next  morning  a  little  bo}^  was  born. 
I  did  not  know  whether  to  be  sad  or  happy,  as  they  showed  me 
the  little  weakly  thing  ;  but  Mary  was  the  happiest  woman,  she 
declared,  in  the  world,  and  forgot  all  her  sorrows  in  nursing 
the  poor  baby :  she  went  bravely  through  her  time,  and  vowed 
that  it  was  the  loveliest  child  in  the  world  ;  and  that  though 
Lady  Tiptoff,  whose  confinement  we  read  of  as  having  taken 
place  the  same  day,  might  have  a  silk  bed  and  a  fine  house  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  she  never,  never  could  have  such  a  beauti- 
ful child  as  our  dear  little  Gus  :  for  after  whom  should  we  have 
named  the  boy,  if  not  after  our  good,  kind  friend  ?  We  had  a 
little  party  at  the  christening,  and  I  assure  you  were  very  merry 
over  our  tea. 

The  mother,  thank  heaven !  was  very  well,  and  it  did  one's 
heart  good  to  see  her  in  that  attitude  in  which  I  think  every 
woman,  be  she  ever  so  plain,  looks  beautiful  —  with  her  baby 


102        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


at  her  bosom.  The  child  was  sickly,  but  she  did  not  see  it ; 
we  were  ver}'  poor,  but  what  cared  she?  She  had  no  leisure  to 
be  sorrowful  as  I  was  :  I  had  my  last  guinea  now  in  my  pocket ; 
and  when  that  was  gone  —  ah !  my  heart  sickened  to  think  of 
what  was  to  come,  and  I  prayed  for  strength  and  guidance,  and 
in  the  midst  of  my  perplexities  felt  3'et  thankful  that  the  danger 
of  the  confinement  w^as  over ;  and  that  for  the  worse  fortune 
wdiich  was  to  befall  us,  my  dear  wife  was  at  least  prepared,  and 
strong  in  health. 

I  told  Mrs.  Stokes  that  she  must  let  us  have  a  cheaper  room 
—  a  garret  that  should  cost  but  a  few  shillings  ;  and  though  the 
good  woman  bade  me  remain  in  the  apartments  we  occupied, 
yet,  now  that  m^;  wife  was  well,  I  felt  it  would  be  a  crime  to 
deprive  my  kind  landlady  of  her  chief  means  of  livelihood  ;  and 
at  length  she  promised  to  get  me  a  garret  as  I  wanted,  and  to 
make  it  as  comfortable  as  might  be  ;  and  little  Jemima  declared 
that  she  would  be  glad  beyond  measure  to  wait  on  the  mother 
and'  the  child. 

The  room,  then,  was  made  ready  ;  and  though  I  took  some 
pains  not  to  speak  of  the  arrangement  too  suddenly  to  Mary, 
yet  there  was  no  need  of  disguise  or  hesitation  ;  for  when  at 
last  I  told  her — ''Is  that  all?"  said  she,  and  took  my  hand 
with  one  of  her  blessed  smiles,  and  vowed  that  she  and  Jemima 
would  keep  the  room  as  pretty  and  neat  as  possible.  "And  I 
will  cook  your  dinners,"  added  she;  ''for  you  know  3^ou  said 
I  make  the  best  rol^^-poly  puddings  in  the  world."  God  bless 
her !  I  do  think  some  women  almost  love  poverty :  but  I  did 
not  tell  Mary  how  poor  I  was,  nor  had  she  any  idea  how 
lawyers',  and  prisons',  and  doctors'  fees  had  diminished  the  sum 
of  mone}'  which  she  brought  me  when  we  came  to  the  Fleet. 

It  was  not,  however,  destined  that  she  and  her  child  should 
inhabit  that  little  garret.  We  were  to  leave  our  lodgings  on 
Monday  morning  ;  but  on  Saturday  evening  the  child  was  seized 
with  convulsions,  and  all  Sunday  the  mother  watched  and  pra3^ed 
for  it :  but  it  pleased  God  to  take  the  innocent  infant  from  us, 
and  on  Sunday,  at  midnight,  it  lay  a  corpse  in  its  mother's 
bosom.  Amen.  We  have  other  children,  happy  and  well, 
now  round  about  us,  and  from  the  father's  heart  the  memor}^  of 
this  little  thing  has  almost  faded  ;  but  I  do  believe  that  every 
day  of  her  life  the  mother  thinks  of  the  first-born  that  was  with 
her  for  so  short  a  while  :  many  and  many  a  time  has  she  taken 
her  daughters  to  the  grave  in  Saint  Bride's,  where  he  lies 
buried  ;  and  she  wears  still  at  her  neck  a  little,  little  lock  of 
gold  hair,  which  she  took  from  the  head  of  the  infant  as  he  lay 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  103 


smiling  in  his  coffin.  It  lias  happened  to  me  to  forget  the 
child's  birthday,  but  to  her  never;  and  often,  in  the  midst  of 
common  talk,  comes  something  tliat  shows  she  is  thinking  of 
the  child  still,  —  some  simple  allusion  that  is  to  me  inexpressi- 
bly affecting. 

I  shall  not  try  to  describe  her  grief,  for  such  things  are 
sacred  and  secret ;  and  a  man  has  no  business  to  place  them 
on  paper  for  all  the  world  to  read.  Nor  should  I  have  men- 
tioned the  child's  loss  at  all,  but  that  even  that  loss  was  the 
means  of  a  great  worldly  blessing  to  us  ;  as  my  wife  has  often 
with  tears  and  thanks  acknowledged. 

While  my  wife  was  weeping  over  her  child,  I  am  ashamed  to 
sa}-^  I  w^as  distracted  with  other  feelings  besides  those  of  grief 
for  its  loss  ;  and  I  have  often  since  thought  what  a  master  — 
na}^  destroyer  —  of  the  affections  want  is,  and  have  learned 
from  experience  to  be  thankful  for  daily  bread.  That  ac- 
knowledgment of  weakness  which  we  make  in  imploring  to 
be  relieved  from  hunger  and  from  temptation,  is  surel}^  wisely 
put  in  our  daily  prayer.  Think  of  it,  you  who  are  rich,  and 
take  heed  how  you  turn  a  beggar  away. 

The  child  lay  there  in  its  wicker  cradle,  with  its  sweet  fixed 
smile  in  its  face  (I  think  the  angels  in  heaven  must  have  been 
glad  to  welcome  that  pretty  innocent  smile)  ;  and  it  was  onl}' 
the  next  da}^,  after  my  wife  had  gone  to  lie  down,  and  I  sat 
keeping  watch  by  it,  that  I  remembered  the  condition  of  its 
parents,  and  thought,  I  can't  tell  with  what  a  pang,  that  I  had 
not  money  left  to  bury  the  little  thing,  and  wept  bitter  tears  of 
despair.  Now,  at  last,  I  thought  I  must  apply  to  my  poor 
mother,  for  this  was  a  sacred  necessity  ;  and  I  took  paper,  and 
wrote  her  a  letter  at  the  baby's  side,  and  told  her  of  our  condi- 
tion. But,  thank  heaven !  I  never  sent  the  letter ;  for  as  I 
went  to  the  desk  to  get  sealing-wax  and  seal  that  dismal  letter, 
my  e3'es  fell  upon  the  diamond-pin  that  I  had  quite  forgotten, 
and  that  was  \ymg  in  the  drawer  of  the  desk. 

I  looked  into  the  bedroom,  —  my  poor  wife  was  asleep  ;  she 
had  been  watching  for  three  nights  and  days,  and  had  fallen 
asleep  from  sheer  fatigue  ;  and  I  ran  out  to  a  pawnbroker's 
with  the  diamond,  and  received  seven  guineas  for  it,  and  coming 
back  put  the  mpney  into  the  landlady's  hand,  and  told  her  to 
get  what  was  needful.  M}^  wife  was  still  asleep  wiien  I  came 
back  ;  and  when  she  woke,  we  persuaded  her  to  go  down  stairs 
to  the  landlad3^^s  parlor ;  and  meanwhile  the  necessary-  prepa- 
rations were  made,  and  the  poor  child  consigned  to  its  coffin. 

The  next  day,  after  all  w^as  over,  Mrs.  Stokes  gave  me  back 


104        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


three  out  of  the  seven  guineas ;  and  then  I  could  not  help  sob- 
bing out  to  her  my  doubts  and  wretchedness,  telling  her  that 
this  was  the  last  money  I  had  ;  and  when  that  was  gone,  I 
knew  not  w^iat  w^as  to  become  of  the  best  wife  that  ever  a  man 
was  blest  with. 

M}'  wife  was  down  stairs  with  the  woman.  Poor  Gus,  who 
was  with  me,  and  quite  as  much  affected  as  any  of  the  party, 
took  me  by  the  arm,  and  led  me  down  stairs  ;  and  we  quite 
forgot  all  about  the  prison  and  the  rules,  and  walked  a  long, 
long  way  across  Blackfriars  Bridge,  the  kind  fellow  striving  as 
much  as  possible  to  console  me. 

When  we  came  back,  it  was  in  the  evening.  The  first  per- 
son who  met  me  in  the  house  was  my  kind  mother,  who  fell 
into  m}'  arms  with  many  tears,  and  who  rebuked  me  tenderly 
for  not  having  told  her  of  my  necessities.  She  never  should 
have  known  of  them,  she  said ;  but  she  had  not  heard  from  me 
since  I  wrote  announcing  the  birth  of  the  child,  and  she  felt 
uneasy  about  my  silence  ;  and  meeting  Mr.  Smithers  in  the 
street,  asked  from  him  news  concerning  me  :  whereupon  that 
gentleman,  with  some  little  show  of  alarm,  told  her  that  he 
thought  her  daughter-in-law  was  confined  in  an  uncomfortable 
place  ;  that  Mrs.  Hoggarty  had  left  us  ;  finally,  that  I  was  in 
prison.  This  news  at  once  despatched  m}'  poor  mother  on  her 
travels,  and  she  had  onl}'  just  come  from  the  prison,  where  she 
learned  my  address. 

I  asked  her  whether  she  had  seen  my  wife,  and  how  she 
found  her.  Rather  to  my  amaze  she  said  that  Mar}^  was  out 
with  the  landlady  when  she  arrived ;  and  eight  —  nine  o'clock 
came,  and  she  was  absent  still. 

At  ten  o'clock  returned  —  not  my  wife,  but  Mrs.  Stokes, 
and  with  her  a  gentleman,  who  shook  hands  with  me  on  coming 
into  the  room,  and  said,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  don't  know  whether 
you  will  remember  me  :  my  name  is  Tiptoff.  1  have  brought 
you  a  note  from  Mrs.  Titmarsh,  and  a  message  from  my  wile, 
who  sincerely  commiserates  your  loss,  and  begs  you  will  not  be 
uneasy  at  Mrs.  Titmarsh's  absence.  She  has  been  good  enough 
to  promise  to  pass  the  night  with  Lady  Tiptofi';  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  not  object  to  her  being  away  from  you,  while  she  is 
giving  hap[)iness  to  a  sick  mother  and  a  sick  child."  After  a 
few  more  words,  my  lord  left  us.  My  wife's  note  only  said 
that  Mrs.  Stokes  would  tell  me  all. 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  105 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN  WHICH  IT  IS  SHOWN  THAT  A  GOOD  WIFE  IS  THE  BEST  DIA- 
MOND A  MAN  CAN  WEAK  IN  HIS  BOSOM. 

"Mrs.  Titmarsh,  ma'am/'  says  Mrs.  Stokes,  ''before  I 
gratify  your  curiosity,  ma'am,  permit  me  to  observe  that  angels 
is  scarce  ;  and  it's  rare  to  liave  one,  much  more  two,  in  a 
family.  Both  your  son  and  your  daughter-in-law,  ma'am,  are 
of  that  uncommon  sort;  they  are,  now,  reely,  ma'am." 

My  mother  said  she  thanked  God  for  both  of  us  ;  and  Mrs. 
Stokes  proceeded  :  — 

'*  When  the  fu —  when  the  seminary,  ma'am,  was  concluded 
this  morning,  your  poor  daughter-in-law  was  glad  to  take  shelter 
in  m}^  humble  parlor,  ma'am  ;  where  she  wept,  and  told  a  thou- 
sand stories  of  the  little  cherub  that's  gone.  Heaven  bless  us ! 
it  was  here  but  a  month,  and  no  one  could  have  thought  it  could 
have  done  such  a  many  things  in  that  time.  But  a  mother's 
eyes  are  clear,  ma'am  ;  and  I  had  just  such  another  angel,  my 
dear  little  Antony,  that  was  born  before  Jemima,  and  would 
have  been  twenty-three  now  were  he  in  this  wicked  world, 
ma'am.  However,  I  won't  speak  of  him,  ma'am,  but  of  what 
took  phice. 

"  You  must  know^  ma'am,  that  Mrs.  Titmarsh  remained 
down  stairs  while  Mr.  Samuel  was  talking  with  his  friend  Mr. 
Hoskins  ;  and  the  poor  thing  would  not  touch  a  bit  of  dinner, 
though  we  had  it  made  comfortable  ;  and  after  dinner,  it  was  ^ 
with  diifjculty  I  could  get  her  to  sup  a  little  drop  of  wine-and- 
water,  and  dip  a  toast  in  it.  It  was  the  first  morsel  that  had 
passed  her  lips  for  many  a  long  hour,  ma'am. 

''Well,  she  would  not  speak,  and  I  thought  it  best  not  to 
interrupt  her ;  but  she  sat  and  looked  at  my  two  youngest  that 
w^ere  playing  on  the  rug  ;  and  just  as  Mr.  Titmarsh  and  his 
friend  Gus  went  out,  the  boy  brought  the  newspaper,  ma'am, 
—  it  always  comes  from  three  to  four,  and  I  began  a-reading  of 
it.  But  I  couldn't  read  much,  for  thinking  of  poor  Mr.  Sam's 
sad  face  as  he  went  out,  and  the  sad  story  he  told  me  about  his 
money  being  so  low  ;  and  every  now  and  then  I  stopped  read- 
ing, and  bade  Mrs.  T.  not  to  take  on  so ;  and  told  her  some 
stories  about  my  dear  little  Anton}-. 

"  'Ah!'  says  she,  sobbing,  and  looking  at  the  young  ones. 


lOG        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


have  other  children,  Mrs.  Stokes;  but  that  —  that  was 
my  ou\y  one  ; '  and  she  flung  back  in  her  chair,  and  cried  fit  to 
break  her  heart :  and  I  knew  that  the  cry  would  do  her  good, 
and  so  went  back  to  my  paper  —  the  Morning  Post^  ma'am  ;  I 
always  read  it,  for  I  like  to  know  what's  a-going  on  in  the 
West  End. 

The  ver}^  first  thing  that  ni}^  eyes  hghted  upon  was  this  : 
— '  Wanted,  immediateh',  a  respectable  person  as  wet-nurse. 
Apply  at  No.  — ,  Grosvenor  Square.'  '•  Bless  us  and  save  us  ! ' 
says  I,  ^  here's  poor  Lady  Tiptofi^'  ill ; '  for  I  knew  her  lady- 
ship's address,  and  how  she  was  confined  on  the  very  same  da}^ 
with  Mrs.  T. :  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  her  ladyship  knows 
my  address,  having  visited  here. 

''A  sudden  thought  came  over  me.  'My  dear  Mrs.  Tit- 
marsh,'  said  I,  you  know  how  poor  and  how  good  your  hus- 
band is.' 

'  Yes,'  sa3^s  she,  rather  surprised. 

'  Well,  my  dear,'  says  I,  looking  her  hard  in  the  face, 
'  Lady  Tiptoff,  who  knows  him,  wants  a  nurse  for  her  son.  Lord 
Po^'nings.  Will  you  be  a  brave  woman,  and  look  for  the  place, 
and  mayhap  replace  the  little  one  that  God  has  taken  from 
you?' 

"  She  began  to  tremble  and  blush ;  and  then  I  told  her  what 
you,  Mr.  Sam,  had  tokl  me  the  otlier  day  about  your  money 
matters  ;  and  no  sooner  did  she  hear  it  than  she  sprung  to  her 
bonnet,  and  said,  '  Come,  come  : '  and  in  five  minutes  she  had 
me  by  the  arm,  and  we  walked  together  to  Grosvenor  Square. 
The  air  did  her  no  harm,  Mr.  Sam,  and  during  the  whole  of 
the  walk  she  never  cried  but  once,  and  then  it  was  at  seeing  a 
nurserj'-maid  in  the  Square. 

''A  great  fellow  in  liverj^  opens  the  door,  and  says,  '  You're 
the  forty-fifth  as  come  about  this  'ere  place ;  but,  fust,  let  me 
ask  you  a  preliminai-y  question.    Are  you  a  Hirishwoman? ' 
'  No,  sir,'  says  Mrs.  T. 

'  That  suffishnt,  mem,'  says  the  gentleman  in  plush;  'I 
see  you're  not  by  your  axnt.  Step  this  way,  ladies,  if  you 
please.  You'll  find  some  more  candidix  for  the  pUxce  up  stairs  ; 
but  I  sent  away  fort^'-four  happlicants,  because  they  was 
Ilirish.' 

We  were  taken  up  stairs  over  very  soft  carpets,  and 
brought  into  a  room,  and  told  by  an  old  lady  who  was  there  to 
speak  very  softly,  for  my  lady  was  only  two  rooms  ofii'.  And 
when  I  asked  how  the  baby  and  her  ladyship  were,  the  old 
lady  told  me  both  were  pretty  well :  only  the  doctor  said  Lady 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  107 


Tiptoff  was  too  delicate  to  nurse  any  longer ;  and  so  it  was 
considered  necessary  to  have  a  wet-nurse. 

There  was  another  young  woman  in  the  room  —  a  tall,  fine 
woman  as  ever  3^ou  saw  —  that  looked  ver}^  angry  and  con- 
tempshious  at  Mrs.  T.  and  me,  and  said,  '  I've  brought  a  letter 
from  the  duchess  whose  daughter  I  nust ;  and  I  think,  Mrs. 
Blenkinsop,  mem,  my  Lady  Tiptoff  may  look  far  before  she 
finds  such  another  nuss  as  me.  Five  feet  six  high,  had  the 
small-pox,  married  to  a  corporal  in  the  Lifeguards,  perfectl}' 
healthy,  best  of  characters,  onl}'  drink  water ;  and  as  for  the 
child,  ma'am,  if  her  ladj^ship  had  six,  I've  a  plenty  for  them 
ail.' 

As  the  woman  was  making  this  speech,  a  little  gentleman 
in  black  came  in  from  the  next  room,  treading  as  if  on  velvet. 
The  woman  got  up,  and  made  him  a  low  curts}^,  and  folding 
her  arms  on  her  great  broad  chest,  repeated  the  speech  she 
had  made  before.  Mrs.  T.  did  not  get  up  from  her  chair,  but 
onl}^  made  a  sort  of  a  bow  ;  which,  to  be  sure,  I  thought  was 
ill  manners,  as  this  gentleman  was  evidentl}^  the  apothecar3\ 
He  looked  hard  at  her  and  said,  '  Well,  my  good  woman,  and 
are  you  come  about  the  place  too  ? ' 
"  'Yes,  sir,'  sa3^s  she,  blushing. 

"  '  You  seem  very  delicate.  How  old  is  your  child?  How 
many  have  you  had?    What  character  have  3^ou?' 

"Your  w^ife  didn't  answer  a  word;  so  I  stepped  up,  and 
said,  '  Sir,'  says  I,  '  this  lady  has  just  lost  her  first  child,  and 
isn't  used  to  look  for  places,  being  the  daughter  of  a  captain  in 
the  navj' ;  so  you'll  excuse  her  want  of  manners  in  not  getting 
up  when  3^ou  came  in.' 

"  The  doctor  at  this  sat  down  and  began  talking  very  kindlj' 
to  her ;  he  said  he  was  afraid  that  her  application  would  be 
unsuccessful,  as  Mrs.  Horner  came  very  strongly  recommended 
from  the  Duchess  of  Doncaster,  whose  relative  Lady  Tiptoff 
was  ;  and  presently  my  lady  appeared,  looking  very  pretty, 
ma'am,  in  an  elegant  lace-cap  and  a  sweet  muslin  robe-de- 
sham. 

''A  nurse  came  out  of  her  ladyship's  room  with  her;  and 
while  my  lady  was  talking  to  us,  walked  up  and  downi  in  the 
next  room  with  something  in  her  arras. 

''First,  my  lady  spoke  to  Mrs.  Horner,  and  then  to  Mrs. 
T.  ;  but  all  the  while  she  w^as  talking,  Mrs.  Titmarsh,  rather 
rudel}^,  as  I  thought,  ma'am,  was  looking  into  the  next  room  : 
looking  —  looking  at  the  baby  there  with  all  her  might.  My 
lady  asked  her  her  name,  and  if  she  had  any  character  ;  and 


108        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


as  she  did  not  speak,  I  spoke  up  for  her,  and  said  she  was  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world  ;  that  her  lad3'ship 
knew  the  gentleman,  too,  and  had  brought  him  a  haunch  of 
venison.  Then  Lady  Tiptoff  looked  up  quite  astonished,  and 
I  told  the  whole  stor}^ :  how  you  had  been  head  clerk,  and  that 
rascal,  Brough,  had  brought  you  to  ruin.  '  Poor  thing  ! '  said 
my  lady  :  Mrs.  Titmarsh  did  not  speak,  but  still  kept  looking 
at  the  bab}' ;  and  the  great  big  grenadier  of  a  Mrs.  Horner 
looked  angrily  at  her. 

'  Poor  thing  ! '  says  my  lady,  taking  Mrs.  T.'s  hand  very 
kind,  '  she  seems  ver^^young.    How  old  are  3^ou,  my  dear?' 

"  '  Five  weeks  and  two  daj^s  ! '  says  3^our  wife,  sobbing. 

''Mrs.  Horner  burst  into  a  laugh;  but  there  was  a  tear 
in  my  lady's  eyes,  for  she  knew  what  the  poor  thing  was 
a-thinking  of. 

''  '  Silence,  woman  ! '  says  she  angril}^  to  the  great  grenadier- 
woman  ;  and  at  this  moment  the  child  in  the  next  room  began 
crying. 

''  As  soon  as  j^our  wife  heard  the  noise,  she  sprung  from 
her  chair  and  made  a  step  forward,  and  put  botli  her  hands  to 
her  breast  and  said,  '  The  child  —  the  child  —  give  it  me  ! '  and 
then  began  to  cr}^  again. 

''My  lady  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  ran  into 
the  next  room  and  brought  her  the  baby  ;  and'  the  baby  clung 
to  her  as  if  he  knew  her :  and  a  pretty  sight  it  was  to  see  that 
dear  woman  with  the  child  at  her  bosom. 

"  When  my  lady  saw  it,  what  do  you  think  she  did?  After 
looking  on  it  for  a  bit,  she  put  her  arms  round  your  wife's  neck 
and  kissed  her. 

"  '  M}"  dear,'  said  she,  '  I  am  sure  you  are  as  good  as  joii 
are  prett}",  and  you  shall  keep  the  child :  and  I  thank  God  for 
sending  3'ou  to  me  ! ' 

"These  were  her  very  words;  and  Dr.  Bland,  who  was 
standing  by,  sa3's,  '  It's  a  second  judgment  of  Solomon  ! ' 

"I  suppose,  m^^  lad}%  you  don't  want  me?'  says  the  big 
woman,  with  another  curts}'. 

"  '  Not  in  the  least!'  answers  my  lady  haughtil}',  and  the 
grenadier  left  the  room  :  and  then  I  told  all  your  stor}'  at  full 
length,  and  Mrs.  Blenkinsop  kept  me  to  tea,  and  I  saw  the 
beautiful  room  that  JNIrs.  Titmarsh  is  to  have  next  to  Lady 
Tiptoff  s  ;  and  when  my  lord  came  home,  what  does  he  do  but 
insist  ui)on  coming  back  here  with  me  in  a  hackney-coacli, 
as  he  said  he  must  apologize  to  you  for  keeping  your  wife 
away/' 


AND  THE  GREAT  IIOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  109 


I  could  not  help,  in  my  own  mind,  connecting  this  strange 
event  which,  in  the  midst  of  our  sorrow  came  to  console  us, 
and  in  our  poverty  to  give  us  bread,  —  I  could  not  help  connect- 
ina;  it  with  the  diamond-pin^  and  fancying  that  the  disappear- 
ance of  that  ornament  had  somehow  l)rought  a  different  and  a 
better  sort  of  luck  into  my  family.  And  though  some  gents 
who  read  this,  ma}'  call  me  a  poor-spirited  fellow  for  allowing 
my  wife  to  go  out  to  service,  who  was  bred  a  lady  and  ought 
to  have  servants  herself:  3^et,  for  my  part,  I  confess  I  did  not 
feel  one  minute's  scruple  or  mortification  on  the  subject.  If 
you  love  a  person  is  it  not  a  pleasure  to  feel  obliged  to  him  ? 
And  this,  in  consequence,  I  felt.  I  was  proud  and  happy  at 
being  able  to  think  that  my  dear  wife  should  be  able  to  labor 
and  earn  bread  for  me,  now  misfortune  had  put  it  out  of  m}" 
power  to  support  me  and  her.  And  now,  instead  of  making 
any  reflections  of  my  own  upon  prison-discipline,  I  will  recom- 
mend the  reader  to  consult  that  admirable  chapter  in  the  life  of 
Mr.  Pickwick,  in  which  the  same  theme  is  handled,  and  which 
shows  how  silly  it  is  to  deprive  honest  men  of  the  means  of  labor 
just  at  the  moment  when  the}^  most  want  it.  What  could  I  do? 
There  were  one  or  two  gents  in  the  prison  who  could  work  (liter- 
ar}^  gents,  — one  wrote  his  Travels  in  Mesopotamia,"  and  the 
other  his  "  Sketches  at  Almack's,"  in  the  place)  ;  but  all  the 
occupation  I  could  find  was  walking  down  Bridge  Street,  and 
then  up  Bridge  Street,  and  staring  at  Alderman  Waithman's  win- 
dows, and  then  at  the  black  man  who  swept  the  crossing.  I 
never  gave  him  anj^thing ;  but  I  envied  him  his  trade  and  his 
broom,  and  the  mone}^  that  continually  fell  into  his  old  hat. 
But  I  was  not  allowed  even  to  cany  a  broom. 

Twice  or  thrice  —  for  Lady  Tiptoff  did  not  wish  her  httle 
bo}'  often  to  breathe  the  air  of  such  a  close  place  as  Salisbur}' 
Square  —  my  dear  Mary  came  in  the  thundering  carriage  to  see 
me.  They  were  merry  meetings  ;  and  —  if  the  truth  must  be 
told  —  twice,  when  nobod}^  was  by,  I  jumped  into  the  carriage 
and  had  a  drive  with  her,  and  when  I  had  seen  her  home  jumped 
into  another  hackney-coach  and  drove  back.  But  this  was 
only  twice  ;  for  the  system  was  dangerous,  and  it  might  bring 
me  into  trouble,  and  it  cost  three  shillings  from  Grosvenor 
Square  to  Ludgate  Hill. 

Here,  meanwhile,  m}^  good  mother  kept  me  company  ;  and 
what  should  we  read  of  one  day  but  the  marriage  of  Mrs. 
Hoggarty  and  the  Eev.  Grimes  Wapshot !  My  mother,  who 
never  loved  Mrs.  H.,  now  said  that  she  should  repent  all  her 
life  having  allowed  me  to  spend  so  much  of  my  time  with  that 


110        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


odious,  ungrateful  woman ;  and  added  that  she  and  I  too  were 
justly  punished  for  worshipping  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness 
and  forgetting  our  natural  feelings  for  the  sake  of  my  aunt's  pal- 
try lucre.  Well,  Amen  !  "  said  I.  This  is  the  end  of  all  our 
fine  schemes  !  M}'  aunt's  money  and  my  aunt's  diamonds  were 
the  causes  of  my  ruin,  and  now  they  are  clear  gone,  thank 
heaven  !  and  I  hope  the  old  lady  will  be  happy  ;  and  I  must 
say  I  don't  envy  the  Rev.  Grimes  Wapshot."  So  we  put  Mrs. 
Hoggart}'  out  of  our  thoughts,  and  made  ourselves  as  com- 
fortable as  might  be. 

Rich  and  great  people  are  slower  in  making  Christians  of 
their  children  than  we  poor  ones,  and  little  Lord  Poynings  was 
not  christened  until  the  month  of  June.  A  duke  was  one  god- 
father, and  Mr.  Edmund  Preston,  the  State  Secretar}',  another ; 
and  that  kind  Lad}^  Jane  Preston,  whom  I  have  before  spoken 
of,  was  the  .godmother  to  her  nephew.  She  had  not  long  been 
made  acquainted  with  my  wife's  history ;  and  both  she  and  her 
sister  loved  her  heartily  and  were  ver}^  kind  to  her.  Indeed, 
there  was  not  a  single  soul  in  the  house,  high  or  low,  but  was 
fond  of  that  good  sweet  creature  ;  and  the  very  footmen  were 
as  ready  to  serve  her  as  they  were  their  own  mistress. 

"I  tell  3'ou  what,  sir,"  sa^'s  one  of  them.  "You  see.  Tit 
my  bo}',  I'm  a  connyshure,  and  up  to  snough  ;  and  if  ever  I  see 
a  lady  in  my  life,  Mrs.  Titmarsh  is  one.  I  can't  be  fimiUar 
with  her  —  Pve  tried  — " 

"  Have  3"ou,  sir  ?  "  said  I. 

"Don't  look  so  indignant!  I  can't,  I  say,  be  fimiliar  with 
her  as  I  am  with  3^ou.  There's  a  somethink  in  her,  a  jenny- 
squaw,  that  haws  me,  sir !  and  even  my  lord's  own  man,  that 
'as  'ad  as  much  success  as  an}^  gentleman -in  Europe  —  he  says 
that  cuss  him  —  " 

"Mr.  Charles,"  says  I,  "tell  my  lord's  own  man  that,  if 
he  wants  to  keep  his  place  and  his  whole  skin,  he  will  never 
address  a  single  word  to  that  lady  but  such  as  a  servant  should 
utter  in  the  presence  of  his  mistress  ;  and  take  notice  that  I  am 
a  gentleman,  though  a  poor  one,  and  will  murder  the  first  man 
who  docs  her  wrong  !  " 

Mr.  Charles  only  said  "  Gammin  !  "  to  this  :  but  psha  !  in 
bragghig  al)Out  my  own  spirit,  I  forgot  to  sa}^  what  great  good 
fortune  my  dear  wife's  conduct  procured  for  me. 

On  the  christening-day,  Mr.  Preston  ofifered  her  first  a 
five  and  then  a  twenty-pound  note;  but  she  declined  either: 
but  she  did  not  decline  a  pres(;nt  that  the  two  la'Mes  made  her 
together,  and  this  was  no  other  than  m?/  release  from  the  Fleet, 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGG  ARTY  DIAMOND.  Ill 


Lord  Tiptoff  s  lawyer  paid  every  one  of  the  bills  against  me, 
and  that  happy  christening-day  made  me  a  free  man.  Kill 
who  shall  tell  the  pleasure  of  that  day,  or  the  merry  dinner  we 
had  in  Mary's  room  at  Lord  Tiptoff  s  house  when  my  lord  and 
my  lady  came  up  stairs  to  shake  hands  with  me? 

''I  have  been  speaking  to  Mr.  Preston,"  says  my  lord, 
"the  gentleman  with  whom  you  had  the  memorable  quarrel, 
and  he  has  forgiven  it  although  he  was  in  the  wrong,  and  prom- 
ises to  do  something  for  you.  We  are  going  down,  meanwhile, 
to  his  house  at  Richmond  ;  and  be  sure,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  I  will 
not  fail  to  keep  you  in  his  mind." 

'-^  Mrs,  Titmarsh  will  do  that,"  sa3^s  my  lady;  "for  Ed- 
mund is  woefully  smitten  with  her  !  "  And  Mary  blushed  and  I 
laughed,  and  we  were  all  very  happy  :  and  sure  enough  there 
came  from  Richmond  a  letter  to  me,  stating  that  I  was  ap- 
pointed fourth  clerk  in  the  Tape  and  Sealing-wax  Office,  with 
a  salary  of  80/.  per  annum. 

Here  perhaps  my  story  ought  to  stop  ;  for  I  was  happy  at 
last,  and  have  never  since,  thank  heaven  I  known  want :  but 
Gus  insists  that  I  should  add  how  I  gave  up  the  place  in  the 
Tape  and  Sealing-wax  Office,  and  for  what  reason.  That  ex- 
cellent Lady  Jane  Preston  is  long  gone,  and  so  is  Mr.  P  

off  in  an  apoplex}^,  and  there  is  no  harm  now  in  telling  the 
story. 

The  fact  was  that  Mr.  Preston  had  fallen  in  love  with  Mar}^ 
in  a  much  more  serious  way  than  any  of  us  imagined  ;  for  I 
do  believe  he  invited  his  brother-in-law  to  Richmond  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  pa}'  court  to  his  son's  nurse.  And  one  day,  as  I 
was  coming  post-haste  to  thank  him  for  the  place  he  had  procured 
for  me,  being  directed  by  Mr.  Charles  to  the  "  scrubbery," 
as  he  called  it,  which  led  down  to  the  river, — there,  sure 
enough,  I  found  Mr.  Preston,  on  his  knees  too,  on  the  gravel- 
walk,  and  before  him  Mary,  holding  the  little  lord. 

"  Dearest  creature!  "  sa3's  Mr.  Preston,  "do  but  listen  to 
me,  and  I'll  make  your  husband  consul  at  Timbuctoo  !  He 
shall  never  know  of  it,  I  tell  you  :  he  can  never  know  of  it. 
I  pledge  you  m}^  word  as  a  Cabinet  Minister  !  Oh,  don't  look 
at  me  in  that  arch  way  !  by  heavens,  3'our  e^-es  kill  me  !  " 

Mary,  when  she  saw  me,  burst  out  laughing,  and  ran  down 
the  lawn  ;  m}^  lord  making  a  huge  crowing,  too,  and  holding 
out  his  little  fat  hands.  Mr.  Preston,  who  was  a  heavv  man, 
was  slowly  getting  up,  when,  catching  a  sight  of  me  looking 
as  fierce  as  the  crater  of  Mount  Etna,  —  he  gave  a  start  back 
and  lost  his  footing,  and  rolled  over  and  over,  walloping  into 


112        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH 


the  water  at  the  garden's  edge.  It  was  not  deep,  and  he 
came  bubbling  and  snorting  out  again  in  as  much  fright  as 
fury. 

^'You  d — d  ungrateful  villain!"  saj^s  he,  ''what  do  3^ou 
stand  there  laughing  for  ?  " 

''Fm  waiting  your  orders  for  Timbuctoo,  sir,"  says  I,  and 
laughed  fit  to  die  ;  and  so  did  my  Lord  Tiptoff  and  his  part}^, 
who  joined  us  on  the  lawn  :  and  Jeames  the  footman  came 
forward  and  helped  Mr.  Preston  out  of  the  water. 

''  Oh,  you  old  sinner  !  "  says  my  lord,  as  his  brother-in-law 
came  up  the  slope.  '•  Will  that  heart  of  3'ours  be  alwa3's  so 
susceptible,  3^ou  romantic,  apoplectic,  immoral  man?" 

Mr.  Preston  went  away,  looking  blue  with  rage,  and  ill- 
treated  his  wife  for  a  whole  month  afterwards. 

''At  any  rate,"  says  my  lord,  "  Titmarsh  here  has  got  a 
place  through  our  friend's  unhappy  attachment ;  and  Mrs.  Tit- 
marsh  has  only  laughed  at  him,  so  there  is  no  harm  there.  It's 
an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobod}^  good,  you  know." 

"Such  a  wind  as  that,  my  lord,  with  due  respect  to  you, 
shall  never  do  good  to  me.  I  have  learned  in  the  past  few 
years  what  it  is  to  make  friends  with  the  mammon  of  unright- 
eousness ;  and  that  out  of  such  friendship  no  good  comes  in 
the  end  to  honest  men.  It  shall  never  be  said  that  Sam  Tit- 
marsh  got  a  place  because  a  great  man  was  in  love  with  his 
wife ;  and  were  the  situation  ten  times  as  valuable,  I  should 
blush  ever}'  day  I  entered  the  office-doors  in  thinking  of  the 
base  means  by  which  my  fortune  was  made.  You  have  made 
me  free,  my  lord ;  and  thank  God  !  I  am  willing  to  work.  I 
can  easily  get  a  clerkship  with  the  assistance  of  my  friends ; 
and  with  that  and  my  wife's  income,  we  can  manage  honestly 
to  face  the  world." 

This  rather  long  speech  I  made  with  some  animation ;  for, 
look  you,  I  was  not  over  well  pleased  that  his  lordship  should 
think  me  capable  of  speculating  in  an}^  way  on  my  wife's 
beauty. 

My  lord  at  first  turned  red,  and  looked  rather  angry ;  but 
at  last  he  held  out  his  hand  and  said,  "  You  are  right,  Titmarsh, 
and  I  am  wrong ;  and  let  me  tell  you  in  confidence,  that  I 
think  you  are  a  very  honest  fellow.  You  shan't  lose  by  3'our 
honesty,  I  promise  you." 

Nor  did  I :  for  I  am  at  tliis  present  moment  Lord  Tiptoff's 
steward  and  riglit-hand  man:  and  am  I  not  a  happy  father? 
and  is  not  my  wife  loved  and  respected  by  all  the  countr}^?  and 
is  not  Gus  Hoskins  my  brother-in-law,  partner  with  his  excellent 


Over  Head  and  Ears  in  Love. 


LIBRARY 
Of  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  IlLtNOiS 


AND  THE  GREAT  HOGGARTY  DIAMOND.  113 


father  in  the  leather  way,  and  the  delight  of  all  his  nephews 
and  nieces  for  his  tricks  and  fun  ? 

As  for  Mr.  Brough,  that  gentleman's  histor}^  would  fill  a 
volume  of  itself.  Since  he  vanished  from  the  London  world, 
liG  has  become  celebrated  on  the  Continent,  where  he  has  acted 
a  thousand  parts,  and  met  all  sorts  of  changes  of  high  and  low 
fortune.  One  thing  we  may  at  least  admire  in  the  man,  and 
that  is,  his  undaunted  courage  ;  and  I  can't  help  thinking,  as  I 
have  said  before,  that  there  must  be  some  good  in  him,  seeing 
the  way  in  which  his  family  are  faithful  to  him.  With  respect 
to  Roundhand,  I  had  best  also  speak  tenderly.  The  case  of 
Roundhand  v,  Tidd  is  still  in  the  memory  of  the  public  ;  nor 
can  I  ever  understand  how  Bill  Tidd,  so  poetic  as  he  was,  could 
ever  take  on  with  such  a  fat,  odious,  vulgar  woman  as  Mrs.  R., 
who  was  old  enough  to  be  his  mother. 

As  soon  as  we  were  in  prosperity,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grimes 
Wapshot  made  overtures  to  be  reconciled  to  us ;  and  Mr. 
Wapshot  laid  bare  to  me  all  the  baseness  of  Mr.  Smithers's 
conduct  in  the  Brough  transaction.  Smithers  had  also  endeav- 
ored to  paj^  his  court  to  me,  once  when  I  went  down  to  Somer- 
setshire ;  but  I  cut  his  pretensions  short,  as  I  have  shown. 
"  He  it  was,"  said  Mr.  Wapshot,  who  induced  Mrs.  Grimes 
(Mrs.  Hoggarty  she  was  then)  to  purchase  the  West  Diddlesex 
shares :  receiving,  of  course,  a  large  bonus  for  himself.  But 
directly  he  found  that  Mrs.  Hoggarty  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Brough,  and  that  he  should  lose  the  income  he  made 
from  the  lawsuits  with  her  tenants  and  from  the  management 
of  her  landed  propert}^  he  determined  to  rescue  her  from  that 
villain  Brough,  and  came  to  town  for  the  purpose.  He  also," 
added  Mr.  Wapshot,  vented  his  malignant  slander  against 
me  ;  but  heaven  was  pleased  to  frustrate  his  base  schemes. 
In  the  proceedings  consequent  on  Brough's  bankruptcy,  Mr. 
Smithers  could  not  appear  ;  for  his  own  share  in  the  transactions 
of  the  Compan}^  would  have  been  most  certainly'  shown  up. 
During  his  absence  from  London,  I  became  the  husband  —  the 
happy  husband  of  your  aunt.  But  though,  my  dear  sir,  I  have 
been  the  means  of  bringing  her  to  grace,  I  cannot  disguise 
from  you  that  Mrs.  W.  has  faults  which  all  my  pastoral  care 
has  not  enabled  me  to  eradicate.  She  is  close  of  her  money, 
sir  —  ver}'  close;  nor  can  I  make  that  charitable  use  of  her 
propert}^  which,  as  a  clergyman,  T  ought  to  do;  for  she  has 
tied  up  every  shilling  of  it,  and  only  allows  me  half  a  crown 
a  week  for  pocket-mone}'.  In  temper,  too,  she  is  ver\'  violent. 
During  the  first  years  of  our  union,  I  strove  with  her ;  yea, 

8 


114        THE  HISTORY  OF  SAMUEL  TITMARSH. 


I  chastised  her ;  but  her  perseverance,  I  must  confess,  got  the 
better  of  me.  I  make  no  more  remonstrances,  but  am  as 
a  lamb  in  her  hands,  and  she  leads  me  whithersoever  she 
pleases." 

Mr.  Wapshot  concluded  his  tale  hy  borrowing  half  a  crown 
from  me,  (it  was  at  the  Somerset  Coffee-house  in  the  Strand, 
where  he  came,  in  the  year  1832,  to  wait  upon  me,)  and  I  saw 
him  go  from  thence  into  the  gin-shop  opposite,  and  come  out 
of  the  gin-shop  half  an  hour  afterwards,  reeling  across  the 
streets,  and  perfecth^  intoxicated. 

He  died  next  year :  when  his  widow,  who  called  herself 
Mrs.  Hoggart3'-Grimes- Wapshot,  of  Castle  Hoggart}',  said 
that  over  the  grave  of  her  saint  all  earthly  resentments  were 
forgotten,  and  proposed  to  come  and  live  with  us  ;  paying  us, 
of  course,  a  handsome  remuneration.  But  this  offer  my  wife 
and  I  respectful!}'  declined  ;  and  once  more  she  altered  her  will, 
which  once  more  she  had  made  in  our  favor  ;  called  us  ungrate- 
ful wretches  and  pampered  menials,  and  left  all  her  property 
to  the  Irish  Hoggarties.  But  seeing  m}'  wife  one  day  in 
a  carriage  with  Lady  Tiptoff,  and  hearing  that  we  had  been  at 
the  great  ball  at  Tiptoff  Castle,  and  that  I  had  grown  to  be 
a  rich  man,  she  changed  her  mind  again,  sent  for  me  on  her 
death-bed,  and  left  me  the  farms  of  Slopperton  and  Squashtail, 
with  all  her  savings  for  fifteen  years.  Peace  be  to  her  soul ! 
for  certainl}^  she  left  me  a  ver}'  prett}'  property. 

Though  I  am  no  literary  man  myself,  my  cousin  Michael 
(who  generall}',  when  he  is  short  of  coin,  comes  down  and 
passes  a  few  months  with  us)  says  that  my  Memoirs  may  be  of 
some  use  to  the  public  (meaning,  I  suspect,  to  himself  )  ;  and 
if  so,  I  am  glad  to  serve  him  and  them,  and  hereb}'  take 
farewell :  bidding  all  gents  who  peruse  this,  to  be  cautious 
of  their  money,  if  they  have  it;  to  be  still  more  cautious  of 
their  friends'  money  ;  to  remember  that  great  profits  imply 
great  risks ;  and  that  the  great  shrewd  capitalists  of  this 
country  would  not  be  content  with  four  per  cent  for  their 
money,  if  the}^  could  securely  get  more  :  above  all,  I  entreat 
them  never  to  embark  in  any  speculation,  of  which  the  conduct 
is  not  perfectly  clear  to  them,  and  of  which  the  agents  are  not 
perfectly  open  and  loyal. 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


By  G.  FITZ-BOODLE. 


THE  KAVENSWING. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHICH  IS  ENTIRELY  INTRODUCTORY  —  CONTAINS    AN  ACCOUNT  OF 
MISS  CRUMP,   HER  SUITORS  AND  HER  FAMILY  CIRCLE. 

In  a  certain  quiet  and  sequestered  nook  of  the  retired  vil- 
lage of  London  —  perhaps  in  the  neighborhood  of  Berkeley 
Square,  or  at  any  rate  somewhere  near  Burhngton  Gardens  — 
there  was  once  a  house  of  entertainment  called  the  "  Bootjack 
Hotel."  Mr.  Crump,  the  landlord,  had,  in  the  outset  of  hfe, 
performed  the  duties  of  boots  in  some  inn  even  more  frequented 
than  his  own,  and,  far  from  being  ashamed  of  his  origin,  as 
many  persons  are  in  the  days  of  their  prosperity,  had  thus 
solemnly  recorded  it  over  the  hospitable  gate  of  his  hotel. 

Crump  married  Miss  Budge,  so  well  known  to  the  admirers 
of  the  festive  dance  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  as  Miss 
Delancy ;  and  they  had  one  daughter,  named  Morgiana,  aftei 
that  celebrated  part  in  the  Forty  Thieves"  which  Miss  Budge 
performed  with  unbounded  applause  both  at  the  Surrey"  and 
"  The  Wells."  Mrs.  Crump  sat  in  a  little  bar,  profusely  orna- 
mented with  pictures  of  the  dancers  of  all  ages,  from  Hillisberg, 
Rose,  Parisot,  who  plied  the  light  fantastic  toe  in  1805,  down 
to  the  Sylphides  of  our  day.  There  was  in  tlie  collection  a 
charming  portrait  of  herself,  done  b}-  De  Wilde  ;  she  was  in 
the  dress  of  Morgiana,  and  in  the  act  of  pouring,  to  very  slow 
music,  a  quantity  of  boiling  oil  into  one  of  the  fort}^  jars.  In 
this  sanctuary  she  sat,  with  black  eyes,  black  hair,  a  purple 
face  and  a  turban,  and  morning,  noon,  or  night,  as  you  went 
into  the  parlor  of  the  hotel,  there  was  Mrs.  Crump  taking  tea 
(with  a  little  something  in  it),  looking  at  the  fashions,  or  read- 
ing Cumberland's  ''British  Theatre."  The  Sunday  Times  was 
her  paper,  for  she  voted  the  Dispatch^  that  journal  which  is 
taken  in  by  most  ladies  of  her  profession,  to  be  vulgar  and 


118 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Radical,  and  loved  the  theatrical  gossip  in  which  the  other 
mentioned  journal  abounds. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  ^'Ro^^al  Bootjack,"  though  a  humble, 
was  a  A^ery  genteel  house  ;  and  a  very  little  persuasion  would 
induce  Mr.  Crump,  as  he  looked  at  his  own  door  in  the  sun, 
to  tell  you  that  he  had  himself  once  drawn  off  with  that  very 
bootjack  the  top-boots  of  His  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of 
Wales  and  the  first  gentleman  in  Europe.  While,  then,  the 
houses  of  entertainment  in  the  neighborhood  were  loud  in 
their  pretended  liberal  politics,  the  ''Bootjack"  stuck  to  the 
good  old  Conservative  line,  and  was  only  frequented  b}^  such 
persons  as  were  of  that  way  of  thinking.  There  were  two 
parlors,  much  accustomed,  one  for  the  gentlemen  of  the  shoul- 
der-knot, who  came  from  the  houses  of  their  employers  hard 
b}" ;  another  for  some  ''gents  who  used  the  'ouse,"  as  Mrs. 
Crump  would  say  (heaven  bless  her !)  in  her  simple  Cockniac 
dialect,  and  who  formed  a  little  ckib  there. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  while  Mrs.  C.  was  sipping  her  eternal 
tea  or  washing  up  her  endless  blue  china,  3'ou  might  often  hear 
Miss  Morgiana  employed  at  the  little  red  silk  cottage  piano, 
singing,  "Come  where  the  haspens  quiver,"  or  "  Bonn}^  lad, 
march  over  hill  and  furrow,"  or  "My  art  and  lute,"  or  any 
other  popular  piece  of  the  day.  And  the  dear  girl  sung  with 
very  considerable  skill  too,  for  she  had  a  fine  loud  voice,  which 
if  not  always  in  tune,  made  up  for  that  defect  by  its  great 
energ}'  and  activity  ;  and  Morgiana  was  not  content  with  sing- 
ing the  mere  tune,  but  gave  every  one  of  the  roulades,  flour- 
ishes, and  ornaments  as  she  heard  them  at  the  theatres  by 
Mrs.  Humby,  Mrs.  Waylett,  or  Madame  Vestris.  The  girl 
had  a  fine  black  eye  like  her  mamma,  a  grand  enthusiasm  for 
the  stage,  as  every  actor's  child  will  have,  and,  if  the  truth 
must  be  known,  had  appeared  many  and  many  a  time  at  the 
theatre  in  Catherine  Street,  in  minor  parts  first,  and  then  in 
Little  Pickle,  in  Desdemona,  in  Rosina,  and  in  Miss  Foote's 
part  where  she  used  to  dance  :  I  have  not  the  name  to  my 
hand,  but  think  it  is  Davidson.  Four  times  in  the  week,  at 
least,  her  mother  and  she  used  to  sail  off  at  night  to  some  place 
of  public  amusement,  for  Mrs.  Crump  had  a  mysterious  ac- 
quaintance with  all  sorts  of  theatrical  personages  ;  and  the 
gates  of  her  old  haunt,  "The  Wells,"  of  the  "Cobourg"  (by 
the  kind  permission  of  Mrs.  Davidge),  nay,  of  the  "Lane" 
and  the  "Market"  themselves,  flew  open  before  her  "Open 
sesame,"  as  the  robbers'  door  did  to  her  colleague,  Ali  Baba 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


119 


(Hornbuckle),  in  the  operatic  piece  in  which  she  was  so 
famous. 

Beer  was  Mr.  Crump's  beverage,  variegated  by  a  httle  gin, 
in  the  evenings  ;  and  Httle  need  be  said  of  this  gentleman 
except  that  he  discharged  his  duties  honorabl}',  and  filled  the 
president's  chair  at  the  club  as  completely  as  it  could  possibl}^ 
be  filled ;  for  he  could  not  even  sit  in  it  in  his  great-coat,  so 
accurately  was  the  seat  adapted  to  him.  His  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, perhaps,  thought  somewhat  slightingly  of  him,  for  he  had 
no  literar}^  tastes,  and  had  never  been  at  a  theatre  since  he 
took  his  bride  from  one.  He  was  valet  to  Lord  Slapper  at 
the  time,  and  certain  it  is  that  his  lordship  set  him  up  in  the 
''Bootjack,"  and  that  stories  had  been  told.  But  w^hat  are 
such  to  you  or  me?  Let  bygones  be  b3'gones  ;  Mrs.  Crump 
was  quite  as  honest  as  her  neighbors,  and  Miss  had  500/.,  to 
be  paid  down  on  the  day  of  her  wedding. 

Those  who  know  the  habits  of  the  British  tradesman  are 
aware  that  he  has  gregarious  propensities  like  any  lord  in  the 
land ;  that  he  loves  a  joke,  that  he  is  not  averse  to  a  glass  ; 
that  after  the  day's  toil  he  is  happy  to  consort  with  men  of  his 
degree  ;  and  that  as  societ}-  is  not  so  far  advanced  among  us 
as  to  allow  him  to  enjoy  the  comforts  of  splendid  club-houses, 
which  are  open  to  many  persons  with  not  a  tenth  part  of  his 
pecuniary  means,  he  meets  his  friends  in  the  cos}^  tavern  parlor, 
where  a  neat  sanded  floor,  a  large  Windsor  chair,  and  a  glass 
of  hot  something  and  water,  make  him  as  happy  as  any  of  the 
clubmen  in  their  magnificent  saloons. 

At  the  "Bootjack"  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  very  genteel 
and  select  society,  called  the  ''Kidney  Club,"  from  the  fact 
that  on  Saturday  evenings  a  little  graceful  supper  of  broiled 
kidneys  was  usually  discussed  by  the  members  of  the  club. 
Saturday  was  their  grand  night ;  not  but  that  they  met  on  all 
other  nights  in  the  week  when  inclined  for  festivity :  and 
indeed  some  of  them  could  not  come  on  Saturda}'s  in  the  sum- 
mer, having  elegant  villas  in  the  suburbs,  where  the}'  passed 
the  six-and-thirty  hours  of  recreation  that  are  happily  to  be 
found  at  the  end  of  every  week. 

There  was  Mr.  Balls,  the  great  grocer  of  South  Audley 
Street,  a  warm  man,  who,  they  say,  had  his  20,000/.  ;  Jack 
Snaflfle,  of  the  mews  hard  b}',  a  capital  fellow  for  a  song ; 
Clinker,  the  ironmonger :  all  married  gentlemen  and  in  the 
best  line  of  business  ;  Tressle,  the  undertaker,  &c.  No  liv- 
eries were  admitted  into  the  room,  as  may  be  imagined,  but  one 
or  two  select  butlers  and  major-domos  joined  the  circle ;  for 


120 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


the  persons  composing  it  knew  very  well  how  important  it  was 
to  be  on  good  terms  with  these  gentlemen :  and  many  a  time 
my  lord's  account  would  never  have  been  paid,  and  m}^  lady's 
large  order  never  have  been  given,  but  for  the  conversation 
which  took  place  at  the  ''Bootjack,"  and  the  friendly  inter- 
course subsisting  between  all  the  members  of  the  society. 

The  tiptop  men  of  the  societ}^  were  two  baclielors,  and  two 
as  fashionable  tradesmen  as  any  in  the  town :  Mr.  Woolse}^ 
from  Stultz's,  of  the*famous  house  of  Linse}',  Woolsey  and  Co. 
of  Conduit  Street,  Tailors  ;  and  Mr.  P^giantine,  the  celebrated 
perruquier  and  perfumer  of  Bond  Street,  whose  soaps,  razors, 
and  patent  ventilating  scalps  are  known  throughout  Europe. 
Linsey,  the  senior  partner  of  the  tailors'  firm,  had  his  hand- 
some mansion  in  Regent's  Park,  drove  his  buggy,  and  did  little 
more  than  lend  his  name  to  the  house.  Woolse}'  lived  in  it, 
was  the  working  man  of  the  firm,  and  it  was  said  that  his 
cut  was  as  magnificent  as  that  of  any  man  in  the  profession. 
AV^oolsey  and  Eglantine  were  rivals  in  many  ways,  —  rivals  in 
fashion,  rivals  in  wit,  and,  above  all,  rivals  for  the  hand  of 
an  amiable  young  lady  whom  we  have  already  mentioned,  the 
dark-eyed  songstress  Morgiana  Crump.  They  were  both  des- 
perately in  love  with  her,  that  was  the  truth  ;  and  each,  in  the 
absence  of  the  other,  abused  his  rival  heartil3\  Of  the  hair- 
dresser Woolsey  said,  that  as  for  Eglantine  being  his  real  name, 
it  was  all  his  (Mr.  Woolsey 's)  eye  ;  that  he  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Jews,  and  his  stock  and  grand  shop  eaten  up  by  usury. 
And  with  regard  to  Woolse}^  P^glantine  remarked,  that  his 
pretence  of  being  descended  from  the  Cardinal  was  all  non- 
sense ;  that  he  was  a  partner,  certainl}^,  in  the  firm,  but  had 
only  a  sixteenth  share  ;  and  that  the  firm  could  never  get  their 
moneys  in,  and  had  an  innnense  number  of  bad  debts  in  their 
books.  As  is  usual,  there  was  a  great  deal  of  truth  and  a  great 
deal  of  malice  in  these  tales  ;  however,  the  gentlemen  were, 
take  them  all  in  all,  in  a  very  fashionable  way  of  business,  and 
had  their  claims  to  IMiss  Morgiana's  hand  backed  by  the  par- 
ents. Mr.  Crump  was  a  partisan  of  tlie  tailor ;  while  Mrs.  C. 
was  a  strong  advocate  for  the  claims  of  the  enticing  perfumer. 

Now,  it  was  a  curious  fact,  that  these  two  gentlemen  were 
eac^h  in  need  of  the  other's  services  —  Woosley  being  afillicted 
with  })remature  ])al(lness,  or  some  other  necessity  for  a  wig 
still  nior(i  fatal  —  Eglantine  being  a  very  fat  man,  who  required 
much  art  to  make  his  figure  at  all  decent.  He  wore  a  brown 
frock-coat  and  fi'ogs,  an(l  attem[)ted  by  all  sorts  of  contrivances 
to  hide  his  obesity ;  but  Woosley's  remark,  that,  drcas  as  he 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


121 


would,  he  would  always  look  like  a  snob,  and  that  there  was 
only  one  man  in  England  who  could  make  a  gentleman  of  him, 
went  to  the  perfumer's  soul ;  and  if  there  was  one  thing  on 
earth  he  longed  for  (not  including  the  hand  of  Miss  Crump), 
it  was  to  have  a  coat  from  Linsey's,  in  which  costume  he  was 
sure  that  Morgiana  would  not  resist  him. 

If  Eglantine  was  uneasy  about  the  coat,  on  the  other  hand 
he  attacked  Woolsey  atrociousl}^  on  the  score  of  his  wig ;  for 
though  the  latter  went  to  the  best  makers,  he  never  could  get 
a  peruke  to  sit  naturally  upon  him;  and  the  unhapp}^  epithet 
of  Mr.  Wiggins,  applied  to  him  on  one  occasion  by  the  barber, 
stuck  to  him  ever  after  in  the  club,  and  made  him  writhe  when 
it  was  uttered.  Each  man  would  have  quitted  the  Kidneys  " 
in  disgust  long  since,  but  for  the  other,  —  for  each  had  an 
attraction  in  the  place,  and  dared  not  leave  the  field  in  posses- 
sion of  his  rival. 

To  do  Miss  Morgiana  justice,  it  must  be  said,  that  she  did 
not  encourage  one  more  than  another ;  but  as  far  as  accepting 
eau-de-Cologne  and  hair-combs  from  the  perfumer,  —  some 
opera  tickets,  a  treat  to  Greenwich,  and  a  piece  of  real  Genoa 
velvet  for  a  bonnet  (it  had  origmally  been  intended  for  a  waist- 
coat) ,  from  the  admiring  tailor,  she  had  been  equall}^  kind  to 
each,  and  in  return  had  made  each  a  present  of  a  lock  of  her 
beautiful  glossy  hair.  It  was  all  she  had  to  give,  poor  girl ! 
and  what  could  she  do  but  gratify  her  admirers  b}^  this  cheap 
and  artless  testimon}-  of  her  regard?  A  pretty  scene  and 
quarrel  took  place  between  the  rivals  on  the  day  when  the}' 
discovered  that  each  was  in  possession  of  one  of  Morgiana's 
ringlets.* 

Such,  then,  were  the  owners  and  inmates  of  the  little 
"  Bootjack,"  from  whom  and  which,  as  this  chapter  is  exceed- 
ingly discursive  and  descriptive,  we  must  separate  the  reader 
for  a  while,  and  carry  him  —  it  is  only  into  Bond  Street,  so  no 
gentleman  need  be  afraid  —  carry  him  into  Bond  Street,  where 
some  other  personages  are  awaiting  his  consideration. 

Not  far  from  Mr.  P^glantine's  shop  in  Bond  Street,  stand,  as 
is  ver}^  well  known,  the  Windsor  chambers.  The  West  Did- 
dlesex  Association  (Western  Branch),  the  British  and  Foreign 
Soap  Compan}^  the  celebrated  attorneys  Kite  and  Levison, 
have  their  respective  offices  here  ;  and  as  the  names  of  the  other 
inhabitants  of  the  chambers  are  not  only  painted  on  the  walls, 
but  also  registered  in  Mrs.  Bo3ie's  Court  Guide,"  it  is  quite 
unnecessary  that  they  should  be  repeated  here.  Among  them, 
on  the  entresol  (between  the  splendid  saloons  of  the  Soap 


122 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Company  on  the  first  floor,  with  their  statue  of  Britannia 
presenting  a  packet  of  the  soap  to  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and 
America,  and  the  West  Diddlesex  Western  Branch  on  the 
basement)  —  lives  a  gentleman  b}^  the  name  of  Mr.  Howard 
Walker.  The  brass  plate  on  the  door  of  that  gentleman's 
chambers  had  the  word  Agency  "  inscribed  beneath  his  name  ; 
and  we  are  therefore  at  Uberty  to  imagine  that  he  followed  that 
mA^sterious  occupation.  In  person  Mr.  Walker  was  very  gen- 
teel ;  he  had  large  whiskers,  dark  eyes  (with  a  slight  cast  in 
them),  a  cane,  and  a  velvet  waistcoat.  He  was  a  member  of  a 
club ;  had  an  admission  to  the  opera,  and  knew  every  face 
behind  the  scenes  ;  and  was  in  the  habit  of  using  a  number  of 
French  phrases  in  his  conversation,  having  picked  up  a  smat- 
tering of  that  language  during  a  residence  on  the  Continent ;  " 
in  fact,  he  had  found  it  very  convenient  at  various  times  of  his 
life  to  dwell  in  the  city  of  Boulogne,  where  he  acquired  a  knowl- 
edge of  smoking,  ecarte,  and  billiards,  which  was  afterwards  of 
great  service  to  him.  He  knew  all  the  best  tables  in  town,  and 
the  marker  at  Hunt's  could  only  give  him  ten.  He  had  some 
fashionable  acquaintances  too,  and  you  might  see  him  walking 
arm-in-arm  with  such  gentlemen  as  m\^  Lord  Vauxhall,  the 
Marquess  of  Billingsgate,  or  Captain  Buff ;  and  at  the  same 
time  nodding  to  young  Moses,  the  dandy  bailiff ;  or  Loder,  the 
gambling-house  keeper ;  or  Aminadab,  the  cigar-seller  in  the 
Quadrant.  Sometimes  he  wore  a  pair  of  moustaches,  and  was 
called  Captain  Walker ;  grounding  his  claim  to  that  title  upon 
the  fact  of  having  once  held  a  commission  in  the  service  of  her 
Majesty  the  Queen  of  Portugal.  It  scarcel}'  need  be  said  tliat 
he  had  been  through  the  Insolvent  Court  many  times.  But  to 
those  who  did  not  know  his  history  intimately'  there  was  some 
difficulty  in  identifying  him  with  the  individual  who  had  so 
taken  the  benefit  of  the  law,  inasmuch  as  in  his  schedule  his 
name  appeared  as  Hooker  Walker,  wine-merchant,  commission- 
agent,  music-seller,  or  what  not.  The  fact  is,  that  though  he 
preferred  to  call  himself  Howard,  Hooker  was  his  Christian 
name,  and  it  had  been  bestowed  on  him  by  his  worthy  old 
father,  who  was  a  clergyman,  and  liad  intended  his  son  for 
that  profession.  But  as  the  old  gentleman  died  in  York  gaol, 
where  he  was  a  prisoner  for  debt,  he  was  never  able  to  put  his 
pious  intentions  with  regard  to  his  son  into  execution  ;  and  the 
young  fellow  (as  he  was  wont  with  many  oaths  to  assert)  was 
thrown  on  his  own  resources,  and  became  a  man  of  the  world 
at  a  very  early  age. 

What  Mr.  Howard  Walker's  age  was  at  the  time  of  the  com- 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


123 


mencement  of  this  history,  and,  indeed,  for  an  indefinite  period 
before  or  afterwards,  it  is  impossible  to  determine.  If  he  were 
eight-and-twent}',  as  he  asserted  himself,  Time  had  dealt  hardly 
with  him  :  his  hair  was  thin,  there  were  man}-  erows'-feet  about 
his  eyes,  and  other  signs  in  his  countenance  of  the  progress  of 
decay.  If,  on  the  contrarj^,  he  were  forty,  as  Sam  Snaffle  de- 
clared, who  himself  had  misfortunes  in  early  life,  and  vowed 
he  knew  Mr.  Walker  in  Whitecross  Street  Prison  in  1820,  he 
was  a  \(iry  young-looking  person  considering  his  age.  His 
figure  was  active  and  slim,  his  leg  neat,  and  he  had  not  in  his 
whiskers  a  single  white  hair. 

It  must,  however,  be  owned  that  he  used  Mr.  p]glantine's 
Regenerative  Unction  (which  will  make  3^our  whiskers  as  black 
as  your  boot),  and,  in  fact,  he  was  a  pretty  constant  visitor  at 
that  gentleman's  emporium  ;  dealing  with  him  largel}^  for  soaps 
and  articles  of  perfumery,  which  he  had  at  an  exceedingly  low 
rate.  Indeed,  he  was  never  known  to  pay  Mr.  Eglantine  one 
single  shilling  for  those  objects  of  luxury,  and,  having  them  on 
such  moderate  terms,  was  enabled  to  indulge  in  them  pretty 
copiously.  Thus  Mr.  Walker  was  almost  as  great  a  nosegay 
as  Mr.  Eglantine  himself:  his  handkerchief  was  scented  with 
verbena,  his  hair  with  jessamine,  and  his  coat  had  usually  a 
fine  perfume  of  cigars,  which  rendered  his  presence  in  a  small 
room  almost  instantaneously  remarkable.  I  have  described 
Mr.  Walker  thus  accuratel}^  because,  in  truth,  it  is  more  with 
characters  than  with  astounding  events  that  this  little  historj- 
deals,  and  Mr.  Walker  is  one  of  the  principal  of  our  dramatis 
personce. 

And  so,  having  introduced  Mr.  W.,  we  will  walk  over  with 
him  to  Mr.  Eglantine's  emporium,  where  that  gentleman  is  in 
waiting,  too,  to  have  his  likeness  taken. 

There  is  about  an  acre  of  plate  glass  under  the  ro3^al  arms 
on  Mr.  Eglantine's  shop-window  ;  and  at  night,  when  the  gas 
is  lighted,  and  the  washballs  are  illuminated,  and  the  lambent 
flame  plays  fitfully  over  numberless  bottles  of  vari-colored  per- 
fumes—  now  flashes  on  a  case  of  razors,  and  now  lightens  up 
a  crystal  vase,  containing  a  hundred  thousand  of  his  patent 
tooth-brushes  —  the  eflfect  of  the  sight  ma}'  be  imagined.  You 
don't  suppose  that  he  is  a  creature  who  has  those  odious,  sim- 
pering wax  figures  in  his  window,  that  are  called  by  the  vulgar 
dummies?  He  is  above  such  a  wretched  artifice  ;  and  it  is  my 
belief  that  he  would  as  soon  have  his  own  head  chopped  off, 
and  placed  as  a  trunkless  decoration  to  his  shop-window,  as 
allow  a  dummy  to  figure  there.    On  one  pane  you  read  in 


124 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


elegant  gold  letters  Eglantinia —  'tis  his  essence  for  the 
handkerchief ;  on  the  other  is  written  "  Regenerative  Unction  " 
—  'tis  his  invaluable  pomatum  for  the  hair. 

There  is  no  doubt  about  it :  Eglantine's  knowledge  of  his 
profession  amounts  to  genius.  He  sells  a  cake  of  soap  for 
seven  shilUngs,  for  which  another  man  would  not  get  a  shilling, 
and  his  tooth-brushes  go  off  like  wildfire  at  half  a  guinea 
apiece.  If  he  has  to  adminster  rouge  or  pearl-powder  to  ladies, 
he  does  it  with  a  mystery  and  fascination  which  there  is  no  re- 
sisting, and  the  ladies  believe  there  are  no  cosmetics  like  his. 
He  gives  his  wares  unheard-of  names,  and  obtains  for  them 
sums  equally  prodigious.  He  can  dress  hair  —  that  is  a  fact  — 
as  few  men  in  this  age  can ;  and  has  been  known  to  take 
twenty  pounds  in  a  single  night  from  as  many  of  the  first  ladies 
of  England  when  ringlets  were  in  fashion.  The  introduction 
of  bands,  he  says,  made  a  difference  of  2,000/.  a  year  in  his 
income  ;  and  if  there  is  one  thing  in  the  world  he  hates  and 
despises,  it  is  a  Madonna.  "  I'm  not,"  says  he,  a  trades- 
man —  I'm  a  hartist "  (Mr.  Eglantine  was  born  in  London)  — 
I'm  a  hartist;  and  show  me  a  fine  'ead  of  air,  and  I'll  dress 
it  for  nothink."  He  vows  that  it  was  his  wa}^  of  dressing 
Mademoiselle  Sontag's  hair,  that  caused  the  count  her  husband 
to  fall  in  love  with  her ;  and  he  has  a  lock  of  it  in  a  brooch, 
and  sa3's  it  was  the  finest  head  he  ever  saw,  except  one,  and 
that  was  Morgiana  Crump's. 

With  his  genius  and  his  position  in  the  profession,  how 
comes  it,  then,  that  Mr.  Eglantine  was  not  a  man  of  fortune, 
as  many  a  less  clever  has  been?  If  the  truth  must  be  told, 
he  loved  pleasure,  and  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Jews.  He  had 
been  in  business  twenty  years  :  he  had  borrowed  a  thousand 
pounds  to  purchase  his  stock  and  shop ;  and  he  calculated  that 
he  had  paid  upwards  of  twenty  thousand  pounds  for  the  use  of 
the  one  thousand,  which  was  still  as  much  due  as  on  the  first 
day  when  he  entered  business.  He  could  show  that  he  had 
received  a  thousand  dozen  of  champagne  from  the  disinterested 
money-dealers  with  whom  he  usually  negotiated  his  paper.  He 
had  pictures  all  over  his  studios,"  which  had  been  purchased 
in  the  same  bargains.  If  he  sold  his  goods  at  an  enormous 
price,  he  paid  for  them  at  a  rate  almost  equally  exorbitant. 
There  was  not  an  article  in  his  shop*  but  came  to  him  through 
his  Israelite  providers  ;  and  in  the  very  front  shop  itself  sat  a 
gentleman  who  was  the  nominee  of  one  of  them,  and  who  was 
called  Mr.  Mossrose.  He  was  there  to  superintend  the  cash 
account,  and  to  see  that  certain  instalments  were  paid  to  his 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


125 


principals,  according  to  certain  agreements  entered  into  be- 
tween Mr.  Eglantine  and  them. 

Having  that  sort  of  opinion  of  Mr.  Mossrose  which  Damocles 
may  liave  had  of  the  sword  which  hung  over  his  head,  of  course 
Mr.  Eglantine  hated  his  foreman  profound!}'.  He  slw  artist," 
would  the  former  gentleman  exclaim;  wh3%  he's  onl}^  a  dis- 
guised bailiff!  Mossrose  indeed!  The  chap's  name's  Amos, 
and  he  sold  oranges  before  he  came  here."  Mr.  Mossrose,  on 
his  side,  utterh'  despised  Mr.  Eglantine,  and  looked  forward 
to  the  da}'  when  he  would  become  the  proprietor  of  the  shop, 
and  take  Eglantine  for  a  foreman  ;  and  then  it  would  be  his 
turn  to  sneer  and  bully,  and  ride  the  high  horse. 

Thus  it  wdll  be  seen  that  there  was  a  skeleton  in  the  great 
perfumer's  house,  as  the  saying  is  :  a  worm  in  his  heart's  core, 
and  though  to  all  appearance  prosperous,  he  was  really  in  an 
awkward  position. 

What  Mr.  Eglantine's  relations  were  with  Mr.  Walker  may 
be  imagined  from  the  following  dialogue  which  took  place 
between  the  two  gentlemen  at  five  o'clock  one  summer's  after- 
noon, when  Mr.  Walker,  issuing  from  his  chambers,  came 
across  to  the  perfumer's  shop  :  — 

''Is  Eglantine  at  home,  Mr.  Mossrose?"  said  Walker  to 
the  foreman,  who  sat  in  the  front  shop. 

"  Don't  know  —  go  and  look"  (meaning  go  and  be  hanged)  ; 
for  Mossrose  also  hated  Mr.  Walker. 

"If  you're  uncivil  I'll  break  your  bones,  Mr.  Amos,'"  sa3's 
Mr.  Walker,  sternly. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  3'ou  try,  Mr.  Hooker  Walker,"  replies 
the  undaunted  shopman  ;  on  which  the  captain,  looking  several 
tremendous  canings  at  him,  walked  into  the  back  room  or 
''  studio." 

"  How  are  you.  Tiny  my  buck?  "  says  the  Captain.  "  Much 
doing  ?  " 

"  Not  a  soul  in  town.  I  'aven't  touched  the  hirons  all  day," 
replied  Mr.  Eglantine,  in  rather  a  desponding  way. 

"Well,  just  get  them  ready  now,  and  give  my  whiskers  a 
turn.  I'm  going  to  dine  with  Billingsgate  and  some  out- 
and-out  fellows  at  the  '  Regent,'  and  so,  my  lad,  just  do  your 
best." 

"  I  can't,"  says  Mr.  Eglantine.  "  I  expect  ladies.  Captain, 
every  minute." 

"  Very  good ;  I  don't  w^ant  to  trouble  such  a  great  man,  I'm 
sure.  Good-by,  and  let  me  hear  from  you  this  day  iveek,  Mr. 
Eglantine."    "  This  day  week"  meant  that  at  seven  days  from 


126 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


that  time  a  certain  bill  accepted  by  Mr.  Eglantine  would  be  due, 
and  presented  for  payment. 

''Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,  Captain  —  do  sit  down.  FIl 
curl  3'ou  in  one  minute.    And,  1  say,  won't  the  party  renew?" 
Impossible  —  it's  the  third  renewal." 

"But  I'll  make  the  thing  handsome  to  you;  —  indeed  I 
will." 

''  How  much?  " 

"  AVill  ten  pounds  do  the  business?  " 

"What!  offer  my  principal  ten  pounds?    Are  you  mad. 
Eglantine? —  A  little  more  of  the  iron  to  the  left  whisker." 
"  No,  I  meant  for  commission." 

"Well,  I'll  see  if  that  will  do.  The  party  I  deal  with. 
Eglantine,  has  power,  I  know,  and  can  defer  the  matter  no 
doubt.  As  for  me,  you  know,  I've  nothing  to  do  in  the  affair, 
and  onlj^  act  as  a  friend  between  you  and  him.  I  give  you  m}^ 
honor  and  soul,  I  do." 

"  I  know  3  0U  do,  m}'  dear  sir."  The  two  last  speeches  were 
lies.  The  perfumer  knew  perfectly  well  that  Mr.  Walker  would 
pocket  the  10/.  ;  but  he  was  too  eas}'  to  care  for  paying  it,  and 
too  timid  to  quarrel  with  such  a  powerful  friend.  And  he  had. 
on  three  different  occasions  already  paid  10/.  fine  for  the  renewal 
of  the  bill  in  question,  all  of  which  bonuses  he  knew  went  to  his 
friend  Mr.  Walker. 

Here,  too,  the  reader  will  perceiA^e  what  was,  in  part,  the 
meaning  of  the  word  "  agency"  on  Mr.  Walker's  door.  He 
was  a  go-between  between  money-lenders  and  borrowers  in  this 
world,  and  certain  small  sums  always  remained  with  him  in  the 
course  of  the  transaction.  He  was  an  agent  for  wine,  too  ;  an 
agent  for  places  to  be  had  through  the  influence  of  great  men  ; 
he  was  an  agent  for  half  a  dozen  theatrical  people,  male  and 
female,  and  had  the  interests  of  the  latter  especially,  it  was 
said,  at  heart.  Such  were  a  few  of  the  means  by  which  this 
worth}'  gentleman  contrived  to  support  himself,  and  if,  as  he 
was  fond  of  high  living,  gambling,  and  pleasures  of  all  kinds, 
his  revenue  was  not  large  enough  for  his  expenditure  —  why, 
he  got  into  debt,  and  settled  his  bills  that  way.  He  was  as 
much  at  home  in  the  P'leet  as  in  Pall  Mall,  and  quite  as  happy 
in  the  one  j)lace  as  in  the  other.  "  That's  the  way  I  take 
things,"  would  this  i)hilosopher  say.  "  If  I've  money,  I  spend  ; 
if  I've  credit,  J  borrow  ;  if  I'm  dunned,  I  whitewash  ;  nnd  so 
you  can't  beat  me  down."  ITappy  elasticity  of  temperament! 
I  do  ])elieve  that  in  spite  of  his  misfortunes  and  precarious  posi- 
tion, there  was  no  man  in  England  whose  conscience  was  more 


THE  RAYENSWING. 


127 


calm,  and  whose  slumbers  were  more  tranquil  than  those  of  Cap- 
tain Howard  Walker. 

As  he  was  sitting  under  the  hands  of  Mr.  Eglantine,  he  re- 
verted to  the  ladies,"  whom  the  latter  gentleman  professed  to 
expect;  said  he  was  a  sly  dog,  a  lucky  ditto,  and  asked  him  if 
the  ladies  were  handsome. 

Eglantine  thought  there  could  be  no  harm  in  telling  a  boun- 
cer to  a  gentleman  with  whom  he  was  engaged  in  money  trans- 
actions ;  and  so,  to  give  the  Captain  an  idea  of  his  solvency  and 
the  brilliancy  of  his  future  prospects,  Captain,"  said  he,  "  I've 
got  a  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  out  with  you,  which  you  were 
obliging  enough  to  negotiate  for  me.  Plave  I,  or  have  I  not, 
two  bills  out  to  that  amount?  " 

''Well,  my  good  fellow,  vou  certainl}^  have;  and  what 
then?" 

"  What  then?  Why,  I  bet  you  five  pounds  to  one,  that  in 
three  months  those  bills  are  paid." 

Done  !  five  pounds  to  one.    I  take  it." 

This  sudden  closing  with  him  made  the  perfumer  rather  un- 
eas}^ ;  but  he  was  not  to  pay  for  three  months,  and  so  he  said 
''Done!"  too,  and  went  on:  "What  would  you  say  if  your 
bills  were  paid?  " 

"  Not  mine  ;  Pike's." 

"  Well,  if  Pike's  were  paid;  and  the  Minories'  man  paid, 
and  ever}^  single  liabilit}'  I  have  cleared  off ;  and  that  Mossrose 
flung  out  of  winder,  and  me  and  my  emporium  as  free  as  hair?" 

"You  don't  say  so?  Is  Queen  Anne  dead?  and  has  she 
left  3'ou  a  fortune  ?  or  what's  the  luck  in  the  wind  now  ?  " 

"  It's  better  than  Queen  Anne,  or  anybody  dying.  What 
should  you  sa^-  to  seeing  in  that  very  place  where  Mossrose  now 
sits  (hang  him  !)  —  seeing  the  fiiiest  head  of 'air  noiv  in  Europe'^ 
A  woman,  I  tell  you  —  a  slap-up  lovely  woman,  who,  I'm  proud 
to  say,  will  soon  be  called  Mrs.  Hegiantine,  and  will  bring  me 
five  thousand  pounds  to  her  fortune." 

"  Well,  Tiny,  this  is  good  luck  indeed.  I  say,  3'ou'll  be  able 
to  do  a  bill  or  two  for  me  then,  hay?  You  won't  forget  an  old 
friend?" 

"  That  I  won't.  I  shall  have  a  place  at  my  board  for  3'ou, 
€apting  ;  and  many's  the  time  I  shall  'ope  to  see  3^ou  under  that 
ma'ogan3\" 

"What  will  the  French  milliner  say?  She'll  hang  herself 
for  despair.  Eglantine." 

"  Hush  !  not  a  word  about  'er.  I've  sown  all  my  wild  oats, 
I  tell  you.    Eglantine  is  no  longer  the  gxi3"3^oung  bachelor,  but 


128 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


the  sober  married  man.  I  want  a  heart  to  share  the  feelings  of 
mine.    I  want  repose.    I'm  not  so  3^oung  as  I  was,  I  feel  it.'' 

Pooh  !  pooh  !  you  are  —  you  are  —  " 

Well,  but  I  sigh  for  an  'appy  fireside  ;  and  I'll  have  it." 
"  And  give  up  that  club  which  you  belong  to,  hay?  " 

'  The  Kidne3's?'  Oh  !  of  course,  no  married  man  should 
belong  to  such  places  :  at  least,  /'II  not ;  and  I'll  have  m}'^  kid- 
neys broiled  at  home.  But  be  quiet,  Captain,  if  you  please  ; 
the  ladies  appointed  to  —  " 

And  is  it  the  lady  you  expect?  eh,  you  rogue  ! " 
"  Well,  get  along.    It's  her  and  her  Ma." 
But  Mr.  Walker  determined  he  wouldn't  get  along,  and 
would  see  these  loveh"  ladies  before  he  stirred. 

The  operation  on  Mr.  AValker's  whiskers  being  concluded, 
he  was  arranging  his  toilet  before  the  glass  in  an  agreeable  at- 
titude :  his  neck  out,  his  enormous  pin  settled  in  his  stock  to 
his  satisfaction,  his  eyes  complacently  directed  towards  the  re- 
flection of  his  left  and  favorite  whisker.  Eglantine  was  laid  on 
a  settee,  in  an  easy,  though  melancholy  posture  ;  he  was  twid- 
dling the  tongs  with  which  he  had  just  operated  on  Walker 
with  one  hand,  and  his  right-hand  ringlet  with  the  other,  and 
he  was  thinking  —  thinking  of  Morgiana  ;  and  then  of  the  bill 
which  was  to  become  due  on  the  16th  ;  and  then  of  a  light  blue 
velvet  waistcoat  with  gold  sprigs,  in  which  he  looked  very  kill- 
ing, and  so  was  trudging  round  in  his  little  circle  of  loves,  fears, 
and  vanities.  Hang  it !  "  Mr.  Walker  was  thinking,  I  am 
SL  handsome  man.  A  pair  of  whiskers  like  mine  are  not  met 
with  every  da}'.  If  anybod}'^  can  see  that  my  tuft  is  dyed,  may 
I  be  —  "  When  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  a  large  lady  with 
a  curl  on  her  forehead,  3x41ow  shawl,  a  green-velvet  bonnet 
with  feathers,  half-boots,  and  a  drab  gown  with  tulips  and  other 
large  exotics  painted  on  it  —  when,  in  a  word,  Mrs.  Crump  and 
her  daughter  bounced  into  the  room. 

^'  Mere  we  are,  Mr.  E."  cries  Mrs.  Crump,  in  a  g^y^  foldtre^ 
confidential  air.       But  law  I  there's  a  gent  in  the  room  !  " 

Don't  mind  me,  ladies,"  said  the  gent  alluded  to,  with  his 
fascinating  wa3\  I'm  a  friend  of  Eglantine's  ;  ain't  I,  Egg? 
a  chip  of  the  old  block,  ha}'  ?  " 

Th(d  you  are,"  said  the  perfumer,  starting  up. 

An  'air-dresser?  "  asked  Mrs.  Crump.  Well,  I  thought 
he  was;  then^'s  something,  Mr.  E.,  in  gentlemen  of  your  pro- 
fession so  ex(!ce(ling,  so  uncommon  (llsfjtm/yj^ 

Madam,  you  do  me  proud,"  replied  the  gentleman  so  com- 
plimented, with  great  presence  of  mind.       Will  you  allow  me 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


129 


to  try  my  skill  upon  you,  or  upon  Miss,  your  lovely  daughter? 
I'm  not  so  clever  as  Eglantine,  but  no  bad  hand,  I  assure 
you." 

Nonsense,  Captain,''  interrupted  the  perfumer,  who  was 
uncomfortable  somehow  at  the  rencontre  between  tlie  Captain 
and  the  object  of  his  affection.  He's  not  in  the  profession, 
Mrs.  C.  This  is  my  friend  Captain  Walker,  and  proud  I  am 
to  call  him  my  friend."  And  then  aside  to  Mrs.  C,  One  of 
the  first  swells  on  town,  ma'am  —  a  regular  tip-topper." 

Humoring  the  mistake  which  Mrs.  Crump  had  just  made, 
Mr.  Walker  thrust  the  curling-irons  into  the  fire  in  a  minute, 
and  looked  round  at  the  ladies  with  such  a  fascinating  grace, 
that  both,  now  made  acquainted  with  his  quality,  blushed  and 
giggled,  and  were  quite  pleased.  Mamma  looked  at  'Gina, 
and  'Gina  looked  at  mamma  ;  and  then  mamma  gave  'Gina 
a  little  blow  in  the  region  of  her  little  waist,  and  then  both 
burst  out  laughing,  as  ladies  will  laugh,  and  as,  let  us  trust, 
they  may  laugh  for  ever  and  ever.  Why  need  there  be  a  rea- 
son for  laughing?  Let  us  laugh  when  we  are  laugh}^,  as  we 
sleep  when  we  are  sleep3\  And  so  Mrs.  Crump  and  her 
demoiselle  laughed  to  their  hearts'  content ;  and  both  fixed 
their  large  shining  black  eyes  repeatedl}^  on  Mr.  Walker. 

"I  won't  leave  the  room,"  said  he,  coming  forward  with 
the  heated  iron  in  his  hand,  and  smoothing  it  on  the  brown 
paper  with  all  the  dexterity  of  a  professor  (for  the  fact  is, 
Mr.  W.  ever}^  morning  curled  his  own  immense  whiskers 
with  the  greatest  skill  and  care)  —  ''I  w^on't  leave  the  room, 
Eglantine  my  bo3\  M}^  lad}^  here  took  me  for  a  hairdresser, 
and  so,  you  know,  I've  a  right  to  stay." 

He  can't  sta}^,"  said  Mrs.  Crump,  all  of  a  sudden,  blush- 
ing as  red  as  a  peon3\ 

"I  shall  have  on  my  peignoir,  mamma,"  said  Miss,  look- 
ing at  the  gentleman,  and  then  dropping  down  her  eyes  and 
blushing  too. 

"  I3ut  he  can't  stay,  'Gina,  I  tell  you:  do  3'ou  think  that 
I  would,  before  a  gentleman,  take  off  my  —  " 

"  Mamma  means  her  fkont  !  "  said  Miss,  jumping  up,  and 
beginnhig  to  laugh  with  all  her  might ;  at  which  the  honest 
landlady  of  the  '"Bootjack,"  who  loved  a  joke,  although  at 
her  own  expense,  laughed  too,  and  said  that  no  one,  except 
Mr.  Crump  and  Mr.  Eglantine,  had  ever  seen  her  without 
the  ornament  in  question. 

"  i>o  go  now,  3'ou  provoking  thing,  you!"  continued  Miss 
C.  to  Mr.  Walker;  ''I  wish  to  hear  the  hoverture,  and  it's 

9 


130 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


six  o'clock  now,  and  we  shall  never  be  done  against  then ; " 
but  the  way  in  which  Morgiana  said     do  go,"  clearly  indicated 
don't"  to  the  perspicuous  mind  of  Mr.  Walker. 

'^Perhaps  30U  'ad  better  go,"  continued  Mr.  Eglantine, 
joining  in  this  sentiment,  and  being,  in  truth,  somewhat  un- 
easy at  the  admiration  which  his     swell  friend "  excited. 

^ '  ril  see  you  hanged  first,  Eggy  my  boy !  Go  I  won't, 
until  these  ladies  have  had  their  hair  dressed :  didn't  3'ou 
yourself  tell  me  that  Miss  Crump's  was  the  most  beautiful 
hair  in  Europe?  And  do  you  think  that  I'll  go  away  with- 
out seeing  it?    No,  here  I  stay." 

''You  naughty,  wicked,  odious,  provoking  man!"  said 
Miss  Crump.  But,  at  the  same  time,  she  took  off  her  bon- 
net, and  placed  it  on  one  of  the  side  candlesticks  of  Mr. 
Eglantine's  glass  (it  was  a  black-velvet  bonnet,  trimmed  with 
sham  lace,  and  with  a  wreath  of  nasturtiums,  convolvuluses, 
and  wallflowers  within);  and  then  said,  ''Give  me  the  pei- 
gnoir, Mr.  Archibald,  if  you  please;"  and  Eglantine,  who 
would  do  anything  for  her  when  she  called  him  Archibald, 
immediatel}^  produced  that  garment,  and  wrapped  round  the 
delicate  shoulders  of  the  lady,  who  removing  a  sham  gold 
chain  which  she  wore  on  her  forehead,  two  brass  hair-combs 
set  with  glass  rubies,  and  the  comb  which  kept  her  back 
hair  together, — removing  them,  I  say,  and  turning  her  great 
eyes  towards  the  stranger,  and  giving  her  head  a  shake,  down 
let  tumble  such  a  flood  of  shining,  waving,  heavy,  glossy, 
jetty  hair,  as  would  have  done  Mr.  Rowland's  heart  good  to 
see.  It  tumbled  down  Miss  Morgiana's  back,  and  it  tum- 
bled over  her  shoulders,  it  tumbled  over  the  chair  on  which 
she  sat,  and  from  the  midst  of  it  her  jollj',  bright-eyed,  rosy 
face  beamed  out  with  a  triumphant  smile,  which  said,  "  A'n't 
I  now  the  most  angelic  being  you  ever  saw  ?  " 

"By  heaven!  it's  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw!" 
cried  Mr.  Walker,  with  undisguised  admiration. 

Isn't  it?"  said  Mrs.  Crump,  who  made  her  daughter's 
triumph  her  own.  "  Heigho  !  when  I  acted  at  '  The  Wells'  in 
1820,  before  that  dear  girl  was  born,  /  had  such  a  head  of  hair 
as  that,  to  a  shade,  sir,  to  a  shade.  The}'  called  me  Ravens- 
wing  on  account  of  it.  I  lost  my  head  of  hair  when  that  dear 
child  was  })orn,  and  I  often  say  to  her,  '  Morgiana,  3'ou  came 
into  the  world  to  rob  your  mother  of  her  air.'  Were  you 
ever  at  'The  Wells,'  sir,  in  1820?  Perhaps  3^1  recollect 
Miss  Delancy?  I  am  that  Miss  Delancy.  Perhaps  you 
recollect,  — 


THE  RAVENSWTNG. 


"  *  Tink-a-tink,  tink-a-tink, 
By  tlie  light  of  tlie  star, 
On  the  blue  river's  brink, 
I  heard  a  guitar. 

" '  I  heard  a  guitar, 

On  the  blue  waters  clear, 
And  knew  by  its  mu-u-sic, 
That  Selim  was  near ! ' 

You  remember  that  in  the  Bagdad  Bells  ?  Fatima,  Delancj' ; 
Selim,  Benlomond  (his  real  name  was  Bunnion  :  and  he  failed, 
poor  fellow,  in  the  public  line  afterwards).  It  was  done  to  the 
tambourine,  and  dancing  between  each  verse, — 

"  *  Tink-a-tink,  tink-a-tink, 

How  the  soft  music  swells, 
And  I  hear  the  soft  clink 
Of  the  minaret  bells  ! 

"'Tink-a— 

Oh  !  "  here  cried  Miss  Crump,  as  if  in  exceeding  pain  (and 
whether  Mr.  Eglantine  had  twitched,  pulled,  or  hurt  any  one 
individual  hair  of  that  lovel}^  head  I  don't  know),  —  Oh,  you 
are  kiUing  me,  Mr.  P^glantine  !  " 

And  with  this  mamma,  who  was  in  her  attitude,  holding  up 
the  end  of  her  boa  as  a  visionary  tambourine,  and  Mr.  Walker, 
who  was  looking  at  her,  and  in  his  amusement  at  the  mother's 
performances  had  almost  forgotten  the  charms  of  the  daughter, 
—  both  turned  round  at  once,  and  looked  at  her  with  many  ex- 
pressions of  sympathy,  while  Eglantine,  in  a  voice  of  reproach, 
said,    Killed  you,  Morgiana  !    1  kiW  you?'' 

"I'm  better  now,"  said  the  3'oung  lady,  with  a  smile, — 
"  I'm  better,  Mr.  Archibald,  now."  And  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  no  greater  coquette  than  Miss  Morgiana  existed  in  all 
May  Fair, —  no,  not  among  the  most  fashionable  mistresses  of 
the  fashionable  valets  who  frequented  the  Bootjack."  vShe 
believed  herself  to  be  the  most  fascinating  creature  that  the 
world  ever  produced  ;  she  never  saw  a  stranger  but  she  tried 
these  fascinations  upon  him  ;  and  her  charms  of  manner  and 
person  were  of  that  show}'  sort  which  is  most  popular  in  this 
world,  where  people  are  w^ont  to  admire  most  that  which  gives 
them  the  least  trouble  to  see  ;  and  so  you  will  find  a  tulip  of  a 
woman  to  be  in  fashion  when  a  little  humble  violet  or  daisy 
of  creation  is  passed  over  without  remark.  Morgiana  was  a 
tulip  among  women,  and  the  tulip-fanciers  all  came  flocking 
round  her. 


132 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Well,  the  said  "Oh!"  and  Fm  better  now,  Mr.  Archi- 
bald," thereb}^  succeeded  in  drawing  everybody's  attention  to 
her  lovel}^  self.  By  the  latter  words  Mr.  Eglantine  was  speciall}- 
inflamed  ;  he  glanced  at  Mr.  Walker,  and  said,  ''Capting! 
didn't  I  tell  you  she  was  a  creecher  1  See  her  hair,  sir :  it's  as 
black  and  as  glossy  as  satting.  It  weighs  fifteen  pound,  that 
hair,  sir  ;  and  I  wouldn't  let  mj^  apprentice  —  that  blundering 
Mossrose,  for  instance  (hang  him!)  —  I  wouldn't  let  any  one 
but  myself  dress  that  hair  for  five  hundred  guineas  !  Ah,  Miss 
Morgiana,  remember  that  3'ou  may  always  have  Eglantine  to 
dress  your  hair  !  —  remember  that,  that's  all."  And  with  this 
the  worthy  gentleman  began  rubbing  delicately  a  little  of  the 
Eglantinia  into  those  ambrosial  locks,  which  he  loved  with  all 
the  love  of  a  man  and  an  artist. 

And  as  for  Morgiana  showing  her  hair,  I  hope  none  of  my 
readers  will  entertain  a  bad  opinion  of  the  poor  girl  for  doing 
so.  Her  locks  were  her  pride  ;  she  acted  at  the  private  theatre 
"  hair  parts,"  where  she  could  appear  on  purpose  to  show  them 
in  a  dishevelled  state  ;  and  that  her  modest}^  was  real  and  not 
affected  may  be  proved  by  the  fact  that  when  Mr.  Walker, 
stepping  up  in  the  midst  of  Eglantine's  last  speech,  took  hold 
of  a  lock  of  her  hair  very  gentl}^  with  his  hand,  she  cried  "  Oh  !  " 
and  started  with  all  her  might.  And  Mr.  Eglantine  observed 
very  gravely,  Capting  !  Miss  Crump's  hair  is  to  be  seen  and 
not  to  be  touched,  if  you  please." 

"No  more  it  is,  Mr.  Eglantine,"  said  her  mamma;  "and 
now,  as  it's  come  to  my  turn,  I  beg  the  gentleman  will  be  so 
obliging  as  to  go." 

"  Must  /?"  cried  Mr.  Walker ;  and  as  it  was  half-past  six, 
and  he  was  engaged  to  dinner  at  the  "  Regent  Club,"  and  as  he 
did  not  wish  to  make  Eglantine  jealous,  who  evidently'  was 
annoyed  by  his  staying,  he  took  his  hat  just  as  Miss  Crump's 
coiffure  was  completed,  and  saluting  her  and  her  mamma,  left 
the  room. 

"A  tip-top  swell,  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Eglantine,  nod- 
ding after  him  :  a  regular  bang-up  chap,  and  no  mistake.  Inti- 
mate with  the  Marquess  of  Billingsgate,  and  Lord  Vauxhall, 
and  that  set." 

"  lie's  ver}'  genteel,"  said  Mrs.  Crump. 

"Law!  I'm  sure  I  think  nothing  of  him,"  said  Mor- 
giana. 

And  Captain  Walker  walked  towards  his  club,  meditating 
on  the  beauties  of  Morgiana.  ''What  hair,"  said  he,  "what 
eyes  the  girl  has  !  the3''re  as  big  as  billiard-balls  ;  aud  5,000/. 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


133 


Eglantine's  in  luck!  5,000/. —  she  can't  have  it,  it's  impos- 
sible ! " 

No  sooner  was  Mrs.  Crump's  front  arranged,  during  the 
time  of  which  operation  Morgiana  sat  in  perfect  contentment 
looking  at  the  last  French  fashions  in  the  Courrier  des  Dames^ 
and  thinking  how  her  pink  satin  slip  would  dye,  and  make  just 
such  a  mantilla  as  that  represented  in  the  engraving,  —  no 
sooner  was  Mrs.  Crump's  front  arranged,  than  both  ladies, 
taking  leave  of  Mr.  Eglantine,  tripped  back  to  the  Bootjack 
Hotel"  in  the  neighborhood,  where  a  very  neat  green  %  was 
already  in  waiting,  the  gentleman  on  the  box  of  which  (from  a 
livery-stable  in  the  neighborhood)  gave  a  knowing  touch  to  his 
hat,  and  a  salute  with  his  whip,  to  the  two  ladies,  as  they 
entered  the  tavern. 

Mr.  W.'s  inside,"  said  the  man  —  a  driver  from  Mr.  Snaf- 
fle's establishment ;  he's  been  in  and  out  this  score  of  times, 
and  looking  down  the  street  for  3'ou."  And  in  the  house, 
in  fact,  was  Mr.  Woolsey,  the  tailor,  who  had  hired  the  flj^, 
and  was  engaged  to  conduct  the  ladies  that  evening  to  the 
play. 

It  was  really  rather  too  bad  to  think  that  Miss  Morgiana, 
after  going  to  one  lover  to  have  her  hair  dressed,  should  go 
with  another  to  the  play  ;  but  such  is  the  way  with  lovel}^ 
woman  !  Let  her  have  a  dozen  admirers,  and  the  dear  coquette 
will  exercise  her  power  upon  them  all :  and  as  a  lady,  when  she 
has  a  large  wardrobe,  and  a  taste  for  variet}^  in  dress,  will  ap- 
pear ever}'  day  in  a  different  costume,  so  will  the  young  and 
giddy  beauty  wear  her  lovers,  encouraging  now  the  black  whis- 
kers, now  smiling  on  the  brown,  now  thinking  that  the  ga}' 
smiling  rattle  of  an  admirer  becomes  her  very  well,  and  now 
adopting  the  sad  sentimental  melancholy  one,  according  as  her 
changeful  fiincy  prompts  her.  Let  us  not  be  too  angry  with 
these  uncertainties  and  caprices  of  beauty  ;  and  depend  on  it 
that,  for  the  most  part,  those  females  who  cr}'  out  loudest 
against  the  flightiness  of  their  sisters,  and  rebuke  their  undue 
encouragement  of  this  man  or  that,  would  do  as  much  them- 
selves if  they  had  the  chance,  and  are  constant,  as  I  am  to  my 
coat  just  now,  because  I  have  no  other. 

Did  you  see  Double3'Ou,  'Gina  dear?"  said  her  mamma, 
addressing  that  3^oung  lad3\  He's  in  the  bar  with  your  Pa, 
and  has  his  military  coat  with  the  king's  buttons,  and  looks  like 
an  officer." 

This  was  Mr.  Woolsey's  style,  his  great  aim  being  to  look 
like  an  army  gent,  for  many  of  whom  he  in  his  capacity  of 


134 


MEN'S  AVIVES. 


tailor  made  those  splendid  red  and  blue  coats  which  character- 
ize our  militar}'.  As  for  the  ro3^al  button,  had  not  he  made  a 
set  of  coats  for  his  late  Majesty,  George  IV.  ?  and  he  would 
add,  when  he  narrated  this  circumstance,  Sir,  Prince  Blucher 
and  Prince  Swartzenberg's  measure's  in  the  house  now  ;  and 
what's  more,  I've  cut  for  WelUngton."  I  believe  he  would 
have  gone  to  St.  Helena  to  make  a  coat  for  Napoleon,  so  great 
was  his  ardor.  He  wore  a  blue-black  wig,  and  his  whiskers 
were  of  the  same  hue.  He  was  brief  and  stern  in  conversation  ; 
and  he  alwa^'s  went  to  masquerades  and  balls  in  a  field-marshal's 
uniform. 

"  He  looks  really  quite  the  thing  to-night,"  continued  Mrs. 
Crump. 

''"Yes,"  said  'Gina  ;  "  but  he's  such  an  odious  wig,  and  the 
dye  of  his  whiskers  alwaj's  comes  off  on  his  white  gloves." 

"  Everybody-  has  not  their  own  hair,  love,"  continued  Mrs. 
Crump  with  a  sigh  ;  "  but  Eglantine's  is  beautiful." 

"  Ever}^  hairdresser's  is,"  answered  Morgiana,  rather  con- 
temptuously; ''but  what  I  can't  bear  is  that  their  fingers  is 
always  so  very  fat  and  pudgy." 

In  fact,  something  had  gone  wrong  with  the  fair  Morgiana. 
Was  it  that  she  had  but  little  liking  for  the  one  pretender  or 
the  other?  Was  it  that  3^oung  Glauber,  who  acted  Romeo 
in  the  private  theatricals,  was  far  younger  and  more  agreeable 
than  either?  Or  was  it,  that  seeing  a  real  gentleman^  such  as 
Mr.  Walker,  with  whom  she  had  had  her  first  interview,  she 
felt  more  and  more  the  want  of  refinement  in  her  other  declared 
admirers !  Certain,  however,  it  is,  that  she  was  very  reserved 
all  the  evening,  in  spite  of  the  attentions  of  Mr.  Woolsey  ;  that 
she  repeatedly  looked  round  at-  the  box-door,  as  if  she  ex- 
pected some  one  to  enter ;  and  that  she  partook  of  only  a 
very  few  oysters,  indeed,  out  of  the  barrel  which  the  gallant 
tailor  had  sent  down  to  the  '' Bootjack,"  and  off  which  the 
part}'  supped. 

What  is  it?"  said  Mr.  Woolse}'  to  his  ally.  Crump,  as  the}' 
sat  together  after  the  retirement  of  the  ladies.  "  She  was  dumb 
all  night.  She  never  once  laughed  at  the  farce,  nor  cried  at 
the  tragedy,  and  you  know  she  laughs  and  cries  uncommon. 
She  only  took  half  her  negus,  and  not  above  a  quarter  of  her 
beer." 

"  No  more  she  did  !  "  replied  Mr.  Crump,  very  calmly.  "  I 
think  it  must  be  the  barber  as  has  been  captivating  her:  he 
dressed  her  hair  for  the  i)lay." 

Hang  him,  I'll  shoot  him  !  "  said  Mr.  Woolsey.    "  A  fat, 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


135 


foolish,  effeminate  beast  like  that  marry  Miss  Morgiana  ? 
Never!  I  will  shoot  him.  I'll  provoke  him  next  Saturday  — 
I'll  tread  on  his  toe  —  I'U  pull  his  nose." 

"No  quarrelling  at  the  'Kidneys!'"  answered  Crump, 
sternly  ;  ' '  there  shall  be  no  quarrelling  in  that  room  as  long  as 
Pm  in  the  chair  !  " 

"  Well,  at  any  rate  you'll  stand  my  friend?  " 

"  You  know  I  will,"  answered  the  other.  "  You  are  honor- 
able, and  I  like  you  better  than  Eglantine.  I  trust  you  more 
than  Eglantine,  sir.  You're  more  of  a  man  than  Eglantine, 
though  you  are  a  tailor ;  and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  may 
get  Morgiana.  Mrs.  C.  goes  the  other  wa}^  I  know  :  but  I  tell 
you  what,  women  will  go  their  own  ways,  sir,  and  Morgy's  like 
her  mother  in  this  point,  and  depend  upon  it,  Morgy  will  decide 
for  herself." 

Mr.  Woolse}'  presently  went  home,  still  persisting  in  his  plan 
for  the  assassination  of  Eglantine.  Mr.  Crump  went  to  bed 
ver}^  quietly,  and  snored  through  the  night  in  his  usual  tone. 
Mr.  Eglantine  passed  some  feverish  moments  of  jealousy,  for 
he  had  come  down  to  the  club  in  the  evening,  and  had  heard 
that  Morgiana  was  gone  to  the  play  with  his  rival.  And  Miss 
Morgiana  dreamed  of  a  man  who  was  —  must  we  say  it?  — 
exceedingly  like  Captain  Howard  Walker.  Mrs.  Captain 
So-and-so  !  "  thought  she.  Oh,  I  do  love  a  gentleman 
dearly  ! " 

And  about  this  time,  too,  Mr.  Walker  himself  came  rolling 
home  from  the  ' '  Regent,"  hiccupping,  Such  hair  !  —  such  eye- 
brows I  —  such  eyes  !  like  b-b-biUiard-balls,  by  Jove  !  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  WHICH  MR.  WALKER  MAKES   THREE  ATTEMPTS  TO  ASCERTAIN 
THE  DWELLING  OF  MORGIANA. 

The  day  after  the  dinner  at  the  Regent  Club,"  Mr.  Walker 
stepped  over  to  the  shop  of  his  friend  the  perfumer,  where,  as 
usual,  the  3'oung  man,  Mr.  Mossrose,  was  established  in  the 
front  premises. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  the  Captain  was  particularly  good- 
humored  ;  and,  quite  forgetful  of  the  words  which  had  passed 


136 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


between  him  and  Mr.  Eglantine's  lieutenant  the  day  before, 

began  addressing  the  latter  with  extreme  cordialit3^ 

''A  good  morning  to  you,  Mr.  Mossrose,"  said  Captain 
Walker.  Wh}^,  sir,  >'ou  look  as  fresh  as  j^our  namesake,  — 
3'ou  do,  indeed,  now,  Mossrose." 

You  look  ash  3'ellow  ash  a  guinea,"  responded  Mr.  Moss- 
rose,  sulkih'.    He  thought  the  Captain  was  hoaxing  him. 

^'M3^good  sir,"  repUes  the  other,  nothing  cast  down,  "I 
drank  rather  too  freel}^  last  night." 

The  more  beast  3'ou  !  "  said  Mr.  Mossrose. 
'"•Thank  you,  Mossrose;  the  same  to  you,"  answered  the 
Captain. 

^^If  you  call  me  a  beast  I'll  punch  your  head  off!"  an- 
swered the  young  man,  who  had  much  skill  in  the  art  which 
many  of  his  brethren  practise. 

I  didn't,  m}'  fine  fellow,"  replied  Walker.  "  On  the  con- 
trar\%  you  —  " 

Do  you  mean  to  give  me  the  lie?  "  broke  out  the  indignant 
Mossrose,  who  hated  the  agent  fierceh^,  and  did  not  in  the  least 
care  to  conceal  his  hate. 

It  fact,  it  was  his  fixed  purpose  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
W^alker,  and  to  drive  him,  if  possible,  from  Mr.  Eglantine's 
shop.  Do  you  mean  to  give  me  the  lie,  I  say,  Mr.  Hooker 
Walker?" 

''For  heaven's  sake,  Amos,  hold  yom  tongue!"  exclaimed 
the  Captain,  to  whom  the  name  of  Hooker  was  as  poison  ;  but 
at  this  moment  a  customer  stepping  in,  Mr.  Amos  exchanged 
his  ferocious  aspect  for  a  bland  grin,  and  Mr.  Walker  walked 
into  the  studio. 

When  in  Mr.  Eglantine's  presence,  W^alker,  too,  was  all 
smiles  in  a  minute,  sunk  down  on  a  settee,  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  perfumer,  and  began  confidentially  discoursing  with  him. 

Such  a  dinner.  Tiny  m}'  boy,"  said  he  ;  "  such  prime  fel- 
lows to  eat  it,  too  !  Billingsgate,  Vauxhall,  Cinqbars,  Bufl['  of 
the  Blues,  and  half  a  dozen  more  of  the  best  fellows  in  town. 
And  what  do  you  think  the  dinner  cost  a  head?  I'll  wager 
you'll  never  guess." 

"  Was  it  two  guineas  a  head?  —  In  course  I  mean  without 
wine,"  said  the  genteel  perfumer. 

Guess  again  !  " 

''  Well,  was  it  ten  guineas  a  head?  I'll  guess  any  sum  you 
please,"  n^plied  Mr.  Eglantine  :  ''  for  I  know  that  when  you  nobs 
are  together,  you  don't  spare  your  mone3\  I  myself,  at  the  '  Star 
and  Garter,'  at  Richmond,  once  paid  — " 


THE  RAVENSAVING. 


137 


"  Eigliteenpeiice  ?  " 

"  Heighteenpence,  sir  !  — I  paid  five-and-tliirty  shillings  per 
'ead.  I'd  have  you  to  know  that  I  can  act  as  a  gentleman  as 
well  as  any  other  gentleman,  sir,"  answered  the  perfumer  with 
much  dignit3\ 

Well,  eigliteenpence  was  what  we  paid,  and  not  a  rap  more 
upon  m}'  honor." 

''Nonsense,  you're  joking.  The  Marquess  of  Billingsgate 
dine  for  eighteenpence  ?  Why,  hang  it,  if  I  was  a  mai'quess, 
Td  pay  a  live  pound  note  for  my  lunch." 

You  little  know  the  person,  Master  Eglantine,"  replied  the 
Captain,  with  a  smile  of  contemptuous  superiority  ;  ''  3  0U  little 
know  the  real  man  of  fashion,  m}'  good  fellow.  Simphcity, 
sir,  —  simplicit3^'s  the  characteristic  of  the  real  gentleman,  and 
so  I'll  tell  you  what  we  had  for  dinner." 

''Turtle  and  A^enison,  of  course:  —  no  nob  dines  without 
them" 

"  Psha !  we're  sick  of  'em!  We  had  pea-soup  and  boiled 
tripe  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  We  had  sprats  and  her- 
rings, a  bullock's  heart,  a  baked  shoulder  of  mutton  and  pota- 
toes, pig's-fry  and  Irish  stew.  /  ordered  the  dinner,  sir,  and 
got  more  credit  for  inventing  it  than  they  ever  gave  to  Ude  or 
Soyer.  The  Marquess  was  in  ecstasies,  the  Earl  devoured  half 
a  bushel  of  sprats,  and  if  the  Viscount  is  not  laid  up  with  a 
surfeit  of  bullock's  heart,  my  name's  not  Howard  Walker. 
Bill}-,  as  1  call  him,  was  in  the  chair,  and  gave  m}'  health  ;  and 
what  do  you  think  the  rascal  proposed?" 

"  What  did  his  lordship  propose?  " 

"  That  ever}^  man  present  should  subscribe  twopence,  and 
pay  for  my  share  of  the  dinner.  By  Jove  !  it  is  true,  and  the 
money  was  handed  to  me  in  a  pewter-pot,  of  which  they  aUo 
l)egged  to  make  me  a  present.  We  afterwards  went  to^  Tom 
Spring's,  from  Tom's  to  the  '  Punish,'  from  the  '  Finish'  to  the 
watch-house  —  that  is,  ^Aey  did,— and  sent  for  me,  just  as  I 
was  getting  into  bed,  to  bail  them  all  out." 

"They're  happy  dogs,  those  young  noblemen,"  said  Mr. 
Eglantine  ;  "  nothing  but  pleasure  from  morning  till  night ;  no 
affectation  neither,  —  no  hoture  ;  but  manly,  downright,  s'traight- 
forward  good  fellows." 

"Should  you  like  to  meet  them,  Tiny  my  boy?"  said  the 
Captain. 

"  If  I  did,  sir,  I  hope  I  should  show  myself  to  be  the  gentle- 
man," answered  Mr.  Eglantine. 

"Well,  you  shall  meet  them,  and  Lady  Billingsgate  shall 


138 


MEN^S  WIVES. 


order  her  perfumes  at  your  shop.  We  are  going  to  dme,  next 
week,  all  our  set,  at  mealy-faced  Bob's,  and  you  shall  be  m}' 
guest,"  cried  the  Captain,  slapping  the  delighted  artist  on  the 
back.       And  now,  my  boy,  tell  me  how  you  spent  the  evening." 

''At  m}^  club,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Eglantine,  blushing 
rather. 

What !  not  at  the  pla}'  with  the  lovely  black-e^^ed  Miss  — 
what  is  her  name,  Eglantine?" 

Never  mind  her  name.  Captain,"  replied  Eglantine,  partlj^ 
from  prudence  and  parti}'  from  shame.  He  had  not  the  heart 
to  own  it  was  Crump,  and  he  did  not  care  that  the  Captain 
should  know  more  of  his  destined  bride. 

''  You  wish  to  keep  the  five  thousand  to  yourself —  eh,  you 
rogue?"  responded  the  Captain,  with  a  good-humored  air, 
although  exceedingly^  mortified  ;  for,  to  say  the  truth,  he  had 
put  himself  to  the  trouble  of  telhng  the  above  long  stor}^  of  the 
dinner,  and  of  promising  to  introduce  Eglantine  to  the  lords, 
solely  that  he  might  ehcit  from  that  gentleman's  good-humor 
some  further  particulars  regarding  the  young  lady  with  the 
bilhard-ball  eyes.  It  was  for  the  very  same  reason,  too,  that 
he  had  made  the  attempt  at  reconciliation  with  Mr.  Mossrose 
which  had  just  so  signally  failed.  Nor  would  the  reader,  did 
he  know  Mr.  W.  better,  at  all  require  to  have  the  above  ex- 
planation ;  but  as  yet  we  are  only  at  the  first  chapter  of  his 
history,  and  who  is  to  know  what  the  hero's  motives  can  be 
unless  we  take  the  trouble  to  explain? 

AYell,  the  little,  dignified  answer  of  the  worthy  dealer  in 
bergamot,  '•  Never  mind  her  name^  Captain!  "  threw  the  gallant 
Captain  quite  aback  ;  and  though  he  sat  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  longer,  and  was  exceedingly  kind  ;  and  though  he  threw 
out  some  skilful  hints,  yet  the  perfumer  was  quite  unconquera- 
ble ;  or,  rather,  he  was  too  frightened  to  tell :  the  poor,  fat, 
timid,  easy,  good-natured  gentleman  was  always  the  prey  of 
rogues, — panting  and  floundering  in  one  rascal's  snare  or 
another's.  He  had  the  dissimulation,  too,  which  timid  men 
have  ;  and  felt  the  presence  of  a  victimizer  as  a  hare  does  of  a 
greyhound.  Now  he  would  be  quite  still,  now  he  would  double, 
and  now  he  would  run,  and  then  came  the  end.  He  knew,  by 
his  sure  instinct  of  fear,  that  the  Captain  had,  in  asking  these 
questions,  a  scheme  against  him,  and  so  he  was  cautious,  and 
trembled,  and  doubted.  And  oh  !  how  he  thanked  his  stars 
when  Lady  Grogmore's  chariot  drove  up,  with  the  Misses 
Grogmore,  who  wanted  their  hair  dressed,  and  were  going  to  a 
breakfast  at  three  o'clock  ! 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


139 


"  ril  look  in  again,  Tin}^,"  said  the  Captain,  on  hearing  the 
summons. 

Z>o,  Captain,"  replied  the  other  :  "  thank  you  and  went 
into  the  lady's  studio  witli  a  heavy  heart. 

Get  out  of  the  wa}^,  you  infernal  villain!"  roared  the 
Captain,  with  many  oaths,  to  Lady  Grogmore's  large  footman, 
with  rub3'-colored  tights,  who  was  standing  inhahng  the  ten 
thousand  perfumes  of  the  shop  ;  and  the  latter,  moving  awa}' 
in  great  terror,  the  gallant  agent  passed  out,  quite  heedless  of 
the  grin  of  Mr.  Mossrose. 

Walker  was  in  a  fury  at  his  want  of  success,  and  walked 
down  Bond  Street  in  a  fury.  I  will  know  where  the  girl 
lives!"  swore  he.  I'll  spend  a  five-pound  note,  by  Jove! 
rather  than  not  know  where  she  lives  !  " 

"  That  you  would —  /  know  you  would  I  said  a  little  grave 
low  voice,  all  of  a  sudden,  by  his  side.  Pooh  !  what's  money 
to  you?  " 

Walkfer  looked  down  ;  it  was  Tom  Dale. 

Who  in  London  did  not  know  httle  Tom  Dale?  He  had 
cheeks  hke  an  apple,  and  his  hair  curled  every  morning,  and  a 
little  blue  stock,  and  alwa3's  two  new  magazines  under  his  arm, 
and  an  umbrella  and  a  little  brown  frock-coat,  and  big  square- 
toed  shoes  with  which  he  went  papping  down  the  street.  He 
was  everywhere  at  once.  Everybody  met  him  every  da}',  and 
he  knew  ever3'thing  that  everybody  ever  did ;  though  nobody 
ever  knew  what  he  did.  He  was,  they  say,  a  hundred  years 
old,  and  had  never  dined  at  his  own  charge  once  in  those  hun- 
dred 3'ears.  He  looked  like  a  figure  out  of  a  wax- work,  with 
glass}^,  clear,  meaningless  eyes :  he  alwa3's  spoke  with  a  grin ; 
he  knew  what  you  had  for  dinner  the  da3^  before  he  met  you, 
and  what  ever3'bod3'  had  had  for  dinner  for  a  centur3'  back 
almost.  He  was  the  receptacle  of  all  the  scandal  of  all  the 
world,  from  Bond  Street  to  Bread  Street;  he  knew  all  the 
authors,  all  the  actors,  all  the  notorieties"  of  the  town,  and 
the  private  histories  of  each.  That  is,  he  never  knew  anything 
really,  but  supplied  deficiencies  of  truth  and  memor3',  with 
read3'-coined,  never-failing  lies.  He  was  the  most  benevolent 
man  in  the  universe,  and  never  saw  30U  without  telling  3'ou 
everything  most  cruel  of  your  neighbor,  and  when  he  left  you 
he  went  to  do  the  same  kind  turn  b3^  yourself. 

''Pooh!  what's  money  to  you,  my  dear  boy?"  said  little 
Tom  Dale,  who  had  just  come  out  of  Ebers's,  where  he  had  been 
filching  an  opera-ticket.    ' '  You  make  it  in  bushels  in  the  Cit}^, 


140 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


you  know  voii  do,  — in  thousands,  /saw  3'ou  go  into  Eglan- 
tine's. Fine  business  that ;  finest  in  London.  Five-shilUng 
cakes  of  soap,  my  dear  boy.  /can't  wash  with  such.  Thou- 
sands a  3'ear  that  man  lias  made  —  hasn't  he  ?  " 

Upon  my  word,  Tom,  I  don't  know,"  says  the  Captain. 

"  Toil  not  know?    Don't  tell  me.    You  know  everj^thing  — 
3'ou  agents.    You  know  he  makes  five  thousand  a  year,  —  ay, 
and  might  make  ten,  but  3'ou  know  why  he  don't." 
Indeed  I  don't." 

"Nonsense.  Don't  humbug  a  poor  old  fellow  like  me. 
Jews  —  Amos  —  fifty  per  cent,  a}'?  Why  can't  he  get  his 
money  from  a  good  Christian  ?  " 

I  have  heard  something  of  that  sort,"  said  Walker,  laugh- 
ing.   "  Why,  b}^  Jove,  Tom,  you  know  everything  !  " 

''Tou  know  everything,  my  dear  hoy.  You  know  what  a 
rascally  trick  that  opera  creature  served  him,  poor  fellow. 
Cashmere  shawls  —  Storr  and  Mortimer's  —  Star  and  Garter. 
Much  better  dine  quiet  off  pea-soup  and  sprats,  —  ay?  His 
betters  have,  as  3'ou  know^  very  well." 

"Pea-soup  and  sprats!  What!  have  3^ou  heard  of  that 
already  ?  " 

"  Who  bailed  Lord  Billingsgate,  a}^  3'ou  rogue?"  and  here 
Tom  gave  a  knowing  and  ahnost  demoniacal  grin.  "  Who 
wouldn't  go  to  the  'Finish?'  Who  had  the  piece  of  plate 
presented  to  him  filled  with  sovereigns?  And  3'ou  deserved 
it,  m3"  dear  bo3^  —  you  deserved  it.  Thev  said  it  was  onl3' 
halfpence,  but  /  know  better !  "  and  here  Tom  went  off  in  a 
cough. 

"  I  sa3',  Tom,"  cried  Walker,  inspired  with  a  sudden  thought, 
"  3'ou,  who  know  ever3^thing,  and  are  a  theatrical  man,  did  you 
ever  know  a  Miss  DelancN',  an  actress?' 

"  At  '  Sadler's  Wells'  in '16?  Of  course  I  did.  Real  name 
was  Budge.  Lord  Shipper  admired  her  very  much,  my  dear 
boy.  She  married  a  man  by  the  name  of  Crump,  his  lordship's 
black  footman,  and  brought  him  five  thousand  })0unds  ;  and 
they  keep  the  '  Bootjack '  public-house  in  Bunker's  Buildings, 
and  the3''ve  got  fourteen  children.  Is  one  of  them  handsome, 
eh,  you  SI3'  rogue,  —  and  is  it  that  which  3'ou  will  give  five 
pounds  to  know?  God  bless  you,  m3^  dear,  dear  boy.  Jones, 
m3'  dear  friend,  how  are  3'ou?  " 

And  now,  seizing  on  Jones,  Tom  Dale  left  Mr.  Walker  alone, 
and  [)roceede(l  to  pour  into  Mr.  Jones's  ear  an  account  of  the 
individual  whom  he  had  just  quitted  ;  how  he  was  the  best 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


141 


fellow  in  the  world,  and  Jones  knew  it ;  how  he  was  in  a  fine 
way  of  making  his  fortune  ;  how  he  had  been  in  the  Fleet  many 
times,  and  how  he  was  at  this  moment  employed  in  looking  out 
for  a  young  lady  of  wliom  a  certain  great  marquess  (whom  Jones 
knew  very  well,  too)  had  expressed  an  admiration. 

But  for  these  observations,  which  he  did  not  hear,  Captain 
Walker,  it  ma}^  be  pronounced,  did  not  care.  His  eyes  bright- 
ened up,  he  marched  quickl}^  and  gaj  ly  away  ;  and  turning  into 
his  own  chambers  opposite  Eglantine's  shop,  sahited  that  estab- 
lishment with  a  grin  of  triumph.  You  woukln't  tell  me  her 
name,  wouldn't  3'ou?"said  Mr.  Walker.  ''Well,  the  luck's 
with  me  now,  and  here  goes." 

Two  days  after,  as  Mr.  Eglantine,  with  white  gloves  and  a 
case  of  eau-de-Cologne  as  a  present  in  his  pocket,  arrived  at 
the  ''  Bootjack  Hotel,"  Little  Bunker's  Buildings,  Berkelej^ 
Square  (for  it  must  out  —  that  was  the  place  in  which  Mr. 
Crump's  inn  was  situated),  he  paused  for  a  moment  at  the 
threshold  of  the  little  house  of  entertainment,  and  listened,  with 
beating  heart,  to  the  sound  of  delicious  music  that  a  well-known 
voice  was  uttering  within. 

The  moon  was  playing  in  silvery  brightness  down  the  gutter 
of  the  humble  street.  A  ''  helper,"  rubbing  down  one  of  Lady 
Smigsmag's  carriage-horses,  even  paused  in  his  whistle  to  listen 
to  the  strain.  Mr.  Tressle's  man,  who  had  been  professionally 
occupied,  ceased  his  tap-tap  upon  the  coffin  which  he  was  get- 
ting in  readiness.  The  greengrocer  (there  is  always  a  green- 
grocer in  those  narrow  streets,  and  he  goes  out  in  white  Berlin 
gloves  as  a  supernumerar}^  footman)  was  standing  charmed  at 
his  little  green  gate  :  the  cobbler  (there  is  always  a  cobbler 
too)  was  drunk,  as  usual,  of  evenings,  but,  with  unusual  sub- 
ordination, never  sung  except  when  the  refrain  of  the  ditty 
arrived,  when  he  hiccupped  it  forth  with  tipsy  loj'alty  ;  and 
Eglantine  leaned  against  the  Chequers  painted  on  the  door- 
side  under  the  name  of  Crump,  and  looked  at  the  red  illumined 
curtain  of  the  bar,  and  the  vast,  well-known  shadow  of  Mrs. 
Crump's  turban  within.  Now  and  again  the  shadow  of  that 
worthy  matron's  hand  would  be  seen  to  grasp  the  shadow 
of  a  bottle  ;  then  the  shadow  of  a  cup  would  rise  towards 
the  turban,  and  still  the  strain  proceeded.  Eglantine.  I 
say,  took  out  his  yellow  bandanna,  and  brushed  the  beady 
drops  from  his  brow,  and  laid  the  contents  of  his  white  kids 
on  his  heart,  and  sighed  with  ecstatic  S3'mpath3\  The  song- 
began,  — 


142 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


'*Come  to  the  greenwood  tree,* 
Come  where  the  dark  woods  be, 
Dearest,  0  come  with  me ! 
Let  us  rove  —  O  my  love  —  O  my  love ! 

O  my-y  love ! 

(Drunken  Cobbler  without) —  0  my-y  love  ! 

Beast !  "  says  Eglantine. 

"  Come —  'tis  the  moonlight  hour, 
Dew  is  on  leaf  and  flower, 
Come  to  tlie  linden  bower,  — 
Let  us  rove  —  O  my  love  —  O  my  love  ! 
Let  us  ro-o-ove,  lurlurliety  ;  yes,  we'll  rove,  lurlurliety. 
Through  the  gro-o-ove,  lurlurliety  —  lurlurli-e-i-e-i-e-i ! 
[Cobbler  as  usual)  —  Let  us  ro-o-ove,^'  &c. 

Tou  here?"  sa3"s  another  individual,  coming  clinking  up 
the  street,  in  a  military-cut  dress-coat,  the  buttons  whereof 
shone  very  bright  in  the  moonlight.  "  Tou  here.  Eglantine? 
—  You're  alwaj^s  here." 

Hush,  Woolsey,"  said  Mr.  Eglantine  to  his  rival  the  tailor 
(for  he  vras  the  individual  in  question)  ;  and  Woolse}^  accord- 
ingh%  put  his  back  against  the  opposite  door-post  and  cheq- 
uers, so  that  (with  poor  Eglantine's  bulk)  nothing  much  thicker 
than  a  sheet  of  paper  could  pass  out  or  in.  And  thus  these 
two  amorous  caryatides  kept  guard  as  the  song  continued :  — 

Dark  is  the  wood,  and  wide, 
Dangers,  they  say,  betide  ; 
But,  at  my  Albert's  side. 
Nought  I  fear,  O  my  love  —  O  my  love  ! 

"  Welcome  the  greenwood  tree, 
Welcome  the  forest  tree, 
Dearest,  with  thee,  with  thee, 
Nought  I  fear,  O  my  love  —  O  ma-a-y  love  !  " 

Eglantine's  fine  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  as  Morgiana 
passionately  uttered  the  above  beautiful  words.  Little  Wool- 
sey's  eyes  glistened,  as  he  clenched  his  fist  with  an  oath,  and 
said,  Show  me  any  singing  that  can  beat  t/iat.  Cobbler,  shut 
your  mouth,  or  I'll  break  your  head  !" 

But  the  cobbler,  regardkiss  of  the  threat,  continued  to  per- 
form the  Lurlurliety,"  with  great  accuracy;  and  when  that 
was  ended,  both  on  Iiis  part  and  Morgiana's,  a  rapturous 

*  The  words  of  tliis  song  are  copyright,  nor  will  the  copyright  be  sold 
for  less  than  twopence-halfpenny. 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


143 


knocking  of  glasses  was  heard  in  the  little  bar,  then  a  great 
clapping  of  hands,  and  finall}^,  somebody  shouted  "  BravaT' 
''Brava!" 

At  that  word  Eglantine  turned  deadlj^  pale,  then  gave  a 
start,  then  a  rush  forward,  which  pinned,  or  rather  cushioned, 
the  tailor  against  the  wall ;  then  twisting  himself  abruptly 
round,  he  sprung  to  the  door  of  the  bar,  and  bounced  into 
that  apartment. 

''''How  are  you^  my  nosegay  V  exclaimed  the  same  voice 
which  had  shouted  "  Brava."    It  was  that  of  Captain  AValker. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  a  gentleman,  with  the 
King's  button  on  his  militar}^  coat,  walked  abruptly  into  Mr. 
Eglantine's  shop,  and,  turning  on  Mr.  Mossrose,  said,  "Tell 
your  master  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  He's  in  his  studio,"  said  Mr.  Mossrose. 
Well,  then,  fellow,  go  and  fetch  him  !  " 

And  Mossrose,  thinking  it  must  be  the  Lord  Chamberlain, 
or  Doctor  Praetorius  at  least,  walked  into  the  studio,  where  the 
perfumer  was  seated  in  a  very  glossy'  old  silk  dressing-gown, 
his  fair  hair  hanging  over  his  white  face,  his  double  chin  over 
his  flaccid,  whit3-brown  shirt-collar,  his  pea-green  slippers  on 
the  hob,  and,  on  the  fire,  the  pot  of  chocolate  which  was  sim- 
mering for  his  breakfast.  A  lazier  fellow  than  poor  Eglantine 
it  would  be  hard  to  find  ;  whereas,  on  the  contrar\%  AVoolsey 
was  always  up  and  brushed,  spick-and-span,  at  seven  o'clock  ; 
and  had  gone  through  his  books,  and  given  out  the  work  for 
the  journeymen,  and  eaten  a  hearty  breakfast  of  rashers  of 
bacon,  before  Eglantine  had  put  the  usual  pound  of  grease  to 
his  hair  (his  fingers  were  always  as  damp  and  shiny  as  if  he 
had  them  in  a  pomatum-pot) ,  and  arranged  his  figure  for  the 
day. 

Here's  a  gent  wants  3^ou  in  the  shop,"  saj's  Mr.  Mossrose, 
leaving  the  door  of  communication  wide  open. 

"  Say  I'm  in  bed,  Mr.  Mossrose;  I'm  out  of  sperrets,  and 
really  can  see  nobody." 

''It's  some  one  from  Vindsor,  I  think;  he's  got  the  ro^'al 
button,"  says  Mossrose. 

"  If  s  me  —  Woolse3%"  shouted  the  little  man  from  the  shop. 

Mr.  Eglantine  at  this  jumped  up,  made  a  rush  to  the  door 
leading  to  his  private  apartment,  and  disappeared  in  a  twink- 
ling. But  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  he  fled  in  order  to 
avoid  Mr.  Woolsey.  He  onl}'  went  away  for  one  minute  just 
to  put  on  his  belt,  for  he  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  without  it  by 
Jiis  rival. 


144 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


This  being  assumed,  and  his  toilet  somewhat  arranged,  Mr. 
Woolsey  was  admitted  into  his  private  room.  And  Mossrose 
would  have  heard  every  word  of  the  conversation  between  those 
two  gentlemen,  had  not  Woolsey,  opening  the  door,  suddenly 
pounced  on  the  assistant,  taken  him  by  the  collar,  and  told  him 
to  disappear  altogether  into  the  shop :  which  Mossrose  did  ; 
vowing  he  would  have  his  revenge. 

The  subject  on  which  Woolse}^  had  come  to  treat  was  an 
important  one.  Mr.  Eglantine,"  says  he,  there's  no  use  dis- 
guising from  one  another  that  we  are  both  of  us  in  love  with 
Miss  Morgiana,  and  that  our  chances  up  to  this  time  have  been 
prett}^  equal.  But  that  Captain  whom  you  introduced,  like  an 
ass  as  3'ou  were  —  " 

An  ass,  Mr.  Woolse}"?  I'd  have  3^ou  to  know,  sir,  that 
I*m  no  more  a  hass  than  3'ou  are,  sir ;  and  as  for  introducing 
the  Captain,  I  did  no  such  thing." 

''Well,  well,  he's  got  a-poaching  Into  our  preserves  some- 
how. He's  evidently  sweet  upon  the  j'oung  woman,  and  is  a 
more  fashionable  chap  than  either  of  us  two.  We  must  get 
him  out  of  the  house,  sir  —  we  must  circumwent  him;  and 
then^  Mr.  Eglantine,  will  be  time  enough  for  3'ou  and  me  to  tiy 
which  is  the  best  man." 

"  He  the  best  man  !  "  thought  Eglantine  ;  "  the  little,  bald, 
unsightly  tailor-creature  !  A  man  with  no  more  soul  than  his 
smoothing-hiron  !  "  The  perfumer,  as  may  be  imagined,  did 
not  utter  this  sentiment  aloud,  but  expressed  himself  quite 
willing  to  enter  into  an}^  hamicahle  arrangement,  by  which  the 
new  candidate  for  Miss  Crump's  favor  must  be  thrown  over. 
It  was,  accordingly,  agreed  between  the  two  gentlemen  that 
thej'  should  coalesce  against  the  common  enemy  ;  that  the}' 
should,  b}'  reciting  many  perfectly  well-founded  stories  in  the 
Captain's  disfavor,  influence  the  minds  of  Miss  Crump's  par- 
ents, and  of  herself,  if  possible,  against  this  wolf  in  sheep's 
clothing ;  and  that,  when  they  were  once  fairlj'  rid  of  him,  each 
should  be  at  libert\%  as  before,  to  prefer  his  own  claim. 

"  I  have  thought  of  a  subject,"  said  the  little  tailor,  turn- 
ing very  red,  and  hemming  and  hawing  a  great  deal.  "I've 
thought,  I  say,  of  a  pint,  which  may  be  resorted  to  with  ad- 
vantage at  the  present  juncture,  and  in  which  each  of  us  may 
be  useful  to  the  other.  An  exchange,  Mr.  Eglantine ;  do  you 
take?" 

"Do  you  mean  an  accommodation-bill?"  said  Eglantine, 
whose  mind  ran  a  good  deal  on  that  species  of  exchange. 

"Pooh,  nonsense,  sir!    The  name  of  our  firm  is,  I  flatter 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


145 


m3'self,  a  little  more  up  in  the  market  than  some  other  people's 
names." 

Do  you  mean  to  insult  the  name  of  Archibald  Eglantine, 
sir?    I'd  have  you  to  know  that  at  three  months  —  " 

''Nonsense!"  says  Mr.  Woolsey,  mastering  his  emotion. 
"There's  no  use  a-quarrelHng,  Mr.  E.  :  we're  not  in  love  with 
each  other,  I  know  that.  You  wish  me  hanged,  or  as  good,  I 
know  that !  " 

"Indeed  I  don't,  sir!  " 

"  You  do,  sir  ;  I  tell  you,  3^ou  do  !  and  what's  more,  I  wish 
the  same  to  you  —  transported,  at  an}'  rate  !  But  as  two  sailors, 
when  a  boat's  a-sinking,  though  they  hate  each  other  ever  so 
much,  will  help  and  bale  the  boat  out ;  so,  sir,  let  us  act :  let 
us  be  the  two  sailors." 

"  Bail,  sir?"  said  Eglantine,  as  usual  mistaking  the  drift  of 
the  argument.  "  I'll  bail  no  man  !  If  you're  in  difficulties,  I 
think  you  had  better  go  to  your  senior  partner,  Mr.  Woolse}'." 
And  P^glantine's  cowardlj^  little  soul  was  filled  with  a  savage 
satisfaction  to  think  that  his  enemy  was  in  distress,  and  actually 
obliged  to  come  to  /nm  for  succor. 

"  You're  enough  to  make  Job  swear,  3'ou  great  fat  stupid 
laz}^  old  barber  !  "  roared  Mr.  Woolse3%  in  a  fury. 

Eglantine  jumped  up  and  made  for  the  bell-rope.  The  gallant 
little  tailor  laughed. 

"There's  no  need  to  call  in  Bets3^,"  said  he.  "I'm  not 
a-going  to  eat  3'ou,  Eglantine  ;  you're  a  bigger  man  than  me  : 
if  you  were  just  to  fall  on  me,  you'd  smother  me  !  Just  sit 
still  on  the  sofa  and  listen  to  reason." 

"  Well,  sir,  pro  ceed,"  said  the  barber  with  a  gasp. 

"  Now,  listen  !  What's  the  darHng  wish  of  your  heart?  I 
know  it,  sir !  3'ou've  told  it  to  Mr.  Tressle,  sir,  and  other  gents 
at  the  club.  The  darling  wish  of  your  heart,  sir,  is  to  have  a 
slap-up  coat  turned  out  of  the  ateliers  of  Messrs.  Linse3',  Wool- 
sey, and  Companv.  You  said  3'ou'd  give  twenty  guineas  for  one 
of  our  coats,  3'ou  know  you  did  !  Lord  Bolsterton's  a  fatter 
man  than  you,  and  look  what  a  figure  we  turn  him  out.  Can 
an3'  firm  in  England  dress  Lord  Bolsterton  but  us,  so  as  to 
make  his  lordship  look  decent?  I  defy  'em,  sir!  We  could 
have  given  Daniel  Lambert  a  figure  !  " 

"  If  I  want  a  coat,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Eglantine,  "  and  I  don't 
den3'  it,  there's  some  people  want  a  head  of  hair  !  " 

"  That's  the  very  point  I  was  coming  to,"  said  the  tailor, 
resuming  the  violent  blush  which  was  mentioned  as  having 
suffused  his  countenance  at  the  beginning  of  the  conversation. 

10 


146 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


"  Let  us  have  terms  of  mutual  accommodation.  Make  me  a 
wig,  Mr.  Eglantine,  and  though  1  never  yet  cut  a  3^ard  of  cloth 
except  for  a  gentleman,  I'll  pledge  you  my  word  I'll  make  you 
a  coat." 

Will  you,  honor  bright?  "  says  Eglantine, 
"Honor  bright,"  says  the  tailor.  ''Look!"  and  in  an 
instant  he  drew  from  his  pocket  one  of  those  slips  of  parch- 
ment which  gentlemen  of  his  profession  carry,  and  putting 
P^glantine  into  the  proper  position,  began  to  take  the  prelimi- 
nary observations.  He  felt  Eglantine's  heart  thump  with 
happiness  as  his  measure  passed  over  that  soft  part  of  the  per- 
fumer's person. 

Then  pulling  down  the  window-blind,  and  looking  that  the 
door  was  locked,  and  blushing  still  more  deeply  than  ever,  the 
tailor  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair  towards  which  Mr.  Eglan- 
tine beckoned  him,  and,  taking  off  his  black  wig,  exposed  his 
head  to  the  great  perruquier's  gaze.  Mr.  Eglantine  looked  at 
it,  measured  it,  manipulated  it,  sat  for  three  minutes  with  his 
head  in  his  hand  and  his  elbow  on  his  knee  gazing  at  the  tailor's 
cranmm  with  all  his  might,  walked  round  it  twice  or  thrice,  and 
then  said,  "  It's  enough,  Mr.  Woolsey.  Consider  the  job  as 
done.  And  now,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  greatl}^  relieved  air  — 
and  now,  Woolsey,  let  us  'ave  a  glass  of  curaQoa  to  celebrate 
this  hauspicious  meeting." 

The  tailor,  however,  stiffl}^  replied  that  he  never  drank  in  a 
morning,  and  left  the  room  without  offering  to  shake  Mr. 
Eglantine  by  the  hand  :  for  he  despised  that  gentleman  very 
heartily,  and  himself,  too,  for  coming  to  any  compromise  with 
him,  and  for  so  far  demeaning  himself  as  to  make  a  coat  for  a 
barber. 

Looking  from  his  chambers  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
that  inevitable  Mr.  Walker  saw  the  tailor  issuing  from  the  per- 
fumer's shop,  and  was  at  no  loss  to  guess  that  something  ex- 
traordinary must  be  in  progress  when  two  such  bitter  enemies 
met  together. 


THE  RAVEN  SWING. 


147 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHAT  CAME  OF  MR.  WALKER's  DISCOVERY  OF  THE 
BOOTJACK.'' 

It  is  very  easy  to  state  how  the  Captain  came  to  take  up 
that  proud  position  at  the  Bootjack"  which  we  have  seen  him 
occup}'  on  the  evening  wlien  the  sound  of  the  fatal  brava''  so 
astonished  Mr.  Eglantine. 

The  mere  entry  into  the  establishment  was,  of  course,  not 
difficult.  An}^  person  by  simpl}^  uttering  the  words,  ''A  pint 
of  beer,"  was  free  of  the  Bootjack  ; "  and  it  was  some  such 
watchword  that  Howard  Walker  employed  when  he  made  his 
first  appearance.  He  requested  to  be  shown  into  a  parlor 
where  he  might  repose  himself  for  a  while,  and  was  ushered 
into  that  ver}^  sanctum  where  the  '-^  Kidne}^  Club"  met.  Then 
he  stated  that  the  beer  was  the  best  he  had  ever  tasted,  except 
in  Bavaria,  and  in  some  parts  of  Spain,  he  added  ;  and  pro- 
fessing to  be  extremely  peckish,"  requested  to  know  if  there 
were  any  cold  meat  in  the  house  whereof  he  could  make  a 
dinner. 

'^I  don't  usually  dine  at  this  hour,  landlord,"  said  he, 
flinging  down  a  half-sovereign  for  payment  of  the  beer;  ''but 
3^our  parlor  looks  so  comfortable  and  the  Windsor  chairs  are  so 
snug,  tliat  I'm  sure  I  could  not  dine  better  at  the  first  club  in 
London." 

One  of  the  first  clubs  in  London  is  held  in  this  ver}^  room," 
said  Mr.  Crump,  very  well  pleased;  "and  attended  by  some 
of  the  best  gents  in  town,  too.  W^e  call  it  the  '  Kidney 
Club.' " 

"  Why,  bless  m}^  soul  I  it  is  the  very  club  my  friend  Eglan- 
tine has  so  often  talked  to  me  about,  and  attended  by  some  of 
the  tip-top  tradesmen  of  the  metropolis  !  " 

"  There's  better  men  here  than  Mr.  Eglantine,"  replied  Mr. 
Crump;  ''though  he's  a  good  man  —  I  don't  say  he's  not  a 
good  man  —  but  there's  better.  Mr.  CUnker,  sir  ;  Mr.  Wool- 
sey,  of  the  house  of  Linsey,  Woolsey  and  Co  —  " 

''The  great  arm3^-clothiers !  "  cried  Walker;  "the  first 
house  in  town  !  "  and  so  continued,  with  exceeding  urbanity, 
holding  conversation  with  Mr.  Crump,  until  the  honest  land- 
lord retired  delighted,  and  told  Mrs.  Crump  in  the  bar  that 


148 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


there  was  a  tip-top  swell  in  the  ''Kidney"  parlor,  who  was 
a-going  to  have  his  dinner  there. 

Fortune  favored  the  brave  Captain  in  every  way.  It  was 
just  Mr.  Crump's  own  dinner-hour ;  and  on  Mrs.  Crump  step- 
ping into  the  parlor  to  ask  the  guest  whether  he  would  like  a 
slice  of  the  joint  to  which  the  family  were  about  to  sit  down, 
fanc}^  that  lady's  start  of  astonishment  at  recognizing  Mr. 
Eglantine's  facetious  friend  of  the  da}^  before.  The  Captain  at 
once  demanded  permission  to  partake  of  the  joint  at  the  family 
table  ;  the  lad}^  could  not  with  any  great  reason  deny  this 
request ;  the  Captain  was  inducted  into  the  bar ;  and  Miss 
Crump,  who  always  came  down  late  for  dinner,  was  even  more 
astonished  than  her  mamma  on  beholding  the  occupier  of  the 
fourth  place  at  the  table.  Had  she  expected  to  see  the  fasci- 
nating stranger  so  soon  again?  I  think  she  had.  Her  big  eyes 
said  as  much,  as,  furtivel}^  looking  up  at  Mr.  Walker's  face, 
the}'  caught  his  looks  ;  and  then  bouncing  down  again  towards 
her  plate,  pretended  to  be  very  busy  in  looking  at  the  boiled 
beef  and  carrots  there  displa3'ed.  She  blushed  far  redder  than 
those  carrots,  but  her  shining  ringlets  hid  her  confusion  together 
with  her  lovely  face. 

Sweet  Morgiana !  the  billiard-ball  eyes  had  a  tremendous 
effect  on  the  Captain.  They  fell  plump,  as  it  were,  into  the 
pocket  of  his  heart ;  and  he  gallantly  proposed  to  treat  the 
company  to  a  bottle  of  champagne,  which  was  accepted  without 
much  difficulty. 

Mr.  Crump,  under  pretence  of  going  to  the  cellar  (where  he 
said  he  had  some  cases  of  the  finest  champagne  in  Europe), 
called  Dick,  the  bo}^,  to  him,  and  despatched  him  wdth  all  speed 
to  a  wine- merchant's,  where  a  couple  of  bottles  of  the  liquor 
were  procured. 

''  Bring  up  two  bottles,  Mr.  C,"  Captain  Walker  gallantly 
said  when  Crump  made  his  move,  as  it  were,  to  the  cellar ;  and 
it  may  be  imagined  after  the  two  bottles  were  drunk  (of  which 
Mrs.  Crump  took  at  least  nine  glasses  to  her  share),  how 
Iiapp3%  merr}^  and  confidential  the  whole  party  had  become. 
Crump  told  his  story  of  the  Bootjack,"  and  whose  boot  it  had 
drawn  ;  the  former  Miss  Delancy  expatiated  on  her  past  theatri- 
cal life,  and  the  pictures  hanging  round  the  room.  Miss  was 
equally  communicative  ;  and,  in  short,  the  Captain  had  all  the 
secrets  of  the  little  f^imil}'  in  his  possession  ere  sunset.  He 
knew  that  Miss  cared  little  for  either  of  her  suitors,  about  wiiom 
mamma  and  papa  had  a  little  quarrel.  He  heard  Mrs.  Crump 
talk  of  Morgiana's  property,  and  fell  more  in  love  with  her  than 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


149 


ever.  Then  came  tea,  the  luscious  crumpet,  the  quiet  game  at 
cribbage,  and  the  song  —  the  song  which  poor  Eglantine  heard, 
and  which  caused  Woolsej^'s  rage  and  his  despair. 

At  the  close  of  the  evening  the  tailor  was  in  a  greater  rage, 
and  the  perfumer  in  greater  despair  than  ever.  He  had  made 
his  little  present  of  eau-de-Cologne.  Oh  fie  !  "  says  the  Cap- 
tain, with  a  horse-laugh,  '-'it  smells  of  the  shop!''  He  taunted 
the  tailor  about  his  wig,  and  the  honest  fellow  had  only  an 
oath  to  give  by  way  of  repartee.  He  told  his  stories  about  his 
club  and  his  lordly  friends.  What  chance  had  either  against 
the  all-accompUshed  Howard  Walker? 

Old  Crump,  with  a  good  innate  sense  of  right  and  wrong, 
hated  the  man ;  Mrs.  Crump  did  not  feel  quite  at  her  ease  re- 
garding him  ;  but  Morgiana  thought  him  the  most  delightful 
person  the  world  ever  produced. 

Eglantine's  usual  morning  costume  was  a  blue  satin  neck- 
cloth embroidered  with  butterflies  and  ornamented  with  a 
brandj'-ball  brooch,  a  light  shawl  waistcoat,  and  a  rhubarb- 
colored  coat  of  the  sort  which,  I  believe,  are  called  Taglionis, 
and  which  have  no  waist-buttons,  and  make  a  pretence,  as  it 
were,  to  have  no  waists,  but  are  in  reality  adopted  by  the  fat 
in  order  to  give  them  a  waist.  Nothing  easier  for  an  obese 
man  than  to  have  a  waist ;  he  has  but  to  pinch  his  middle  part 
a  little  and  the  ver}^  fat  on  either  side  pushed  violently  forward 
makes  a  waist,  as  it  were,  and  our  worth}^  perfumer's  figure  was 
that  of  a  bolster  cut  almost  in  two  with  a  string. 

Walker  presently  saw  him  at  his  shop-door  grinning  in  this 
costume,  twiddUng  his  ringlets  with  his  dump}'  greasy  fingers, 
glittering  with  oil  and  rings,  and  looking  so  exceedingly  con- 
tented and  happy  that  the  estate-agent  felt  assured  some  ver}^ 
satisfactory  conspiracy-  had  been  planned  between  the  tailor 
and  him.  How  was  Mr.  Walker  to  learn  what  the  scheme  was? 
Alas  !  the  poor  fellow's  vanity  and  delight  were  such,  that  he 
could  not  keep  silent  as  to  the  cause  of  his  satisfaction,  and 
rather  than  not  mention  it  at  all,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart  he 
would  have  told  his  secret  to  Mr.  Mossrose  himself. 

"  When  I  get  my  coat,"  thought  the  Bond  Street  Alnaschar, 
"  I'll  hire  of  Snaflfle  that  easy-going  cream-colored  'oss  that  he 
bought  from  Astley's  and  I'll  canter  through  the  Park,  and 
won't  I  pass  through  Little  Bunker's  Buildings,  that's  all?  I'll 
wear  m}^  gray  trousers  with  the  velvet  stripe  down  the  side, 
and  get  my  spurs  lacquered  up,  and  a  French  polish  to  my 
boot ;  and  if  I  don't  do  for  the  Captain  and  the  tailor  too,  my 
name's  not  Archibald.    And  I  know  what  I'll  do  :  I'll  hire  the 


150 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


small  Clarence,  and  invite  the  Crumps  to  dinner  at  the  '  Gar 
and  Starter'"  (this  was  his  facetious  wa}^  of  calling  the  Star 
and  Garter"),  and  I'll  ride  by  them  all  the  way  to  Richmond. 
It's  rather  a  long  ride,  but  with  Snaffle's  soft  saddle  I  can  do 
it  pretty  easy,  I  dare  say."  And  so  the  honest  fellow  built 
castles  upon  castles  in  the  air ;  and  the  last  most  beautiful 
vision  of  all  was  Miss  Crump  in  white  satting,  with  a  horange- 
flower  in  her 'air,"  putting  him  in  possession  of  ''her  lovel}' 
'and  before  the  haltar  of  St.  George's,  'Anover  Square."  As 
for  Woolse}^  Eglantine  determined  that  he  should  have  the 
best  wig  his  art  could  produce  ;  for  he  had  not  the  least  fear  of 
his  rival. 

These  points  then  being  arranged  to  the  poor  fellow's  satis- 
faction, what  does  he  do  but  send  out  for  half  a  quire  of  pink 
note-paper,  and  in  a  filigree  envelope  despatch  a  note  of  invita- 
tion to  the  ladies  at  the  ''  Bootjack  :  "  — 

"Bower  of  Bloom,  Bond  Street, 
"Thursday. 

"  Mr.  Archibald  Eglantine  presents  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Crump,  and  requests  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  their  company  at  the  *  Star 
and  Garter '  at  Richmond  to  an  early  dinner  on  Sunday  next. 

If  agreeable,  Mr.  Eglantine's  carriage  will  be  at  your  door  at  three 
o'clock,  and  I  propose  to  accompany  them  on  horseback  if  agreeable  like- 
wise.'' 

This  note  was  sealed  with  yellow  wax,  and  sent  to  its 
destination  ;  and  of  course  Mr.  Eglantine  went  himself  for  the 
answer  in  the  evening :  and  of  course  he  told  the  ladies  to  look 
out  for  a  certain  new  coat  he  was  going  to  sport  on  Sunday ; 
and  of  course  Mr.  Walker  happens  to  call  the  next  dsij  with 
spare  tickets  for  Mrs.  Crump  and  her  daughter,  when  the  whole 
secret  was  laid  bare  to  him,  — how  the  ladies  were  going  to 
Richmond  on  Sunday  in  Mr.  Snaffle's  Clarence,  and  how  Mr. 
Eglantine  was  to  ride  b}'  their  side. 

Mr.  Walker  did  not  keep  horses  of  his  own  ;  his  magnificent 
friends  at  the  "  Regent"  had  plenty  in  their  stables,  and  some 
of  these  were  at  livery  at  the  establishment  of  the  Captain's 
old  "  college  "  companion,  Mr.  Snaffle.  It  was  eas}^  therefore, 
for  the  Captain  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  that  individual. 
So,  hanging  on  the  arm  of  my  Lord  Vauxhall,  Captain  Walker 
next  day  made  his  appearance  at  Snaffle's  livery-stables,  and 
looked  at  the  various  horses  there  for  sale  or  at  bait,  and  soon 
managed,  b}'  putting  some  facetious  questions  to  Mr.  Snaffle 
regarding  the  "  Kidne}^  Club,"  &c.,  to  place  himself  on  a 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


151 


friendl}'  footing  with  that  gentleman,  and  to  learn  from  hhn 
what  horse  Mr.  Eglantine  was  to  ride  on  Sunday. 

The  monster  Walker  had  fully  determined  in  his  mind  that 
Eglantine  should  fall  off  that  horse  in  the  course  of  his  Sunday's 
ride. 

"  That  sing'lar  hanimal,"  said  Mr.  Snaffle,  pointing  to  the 
old  horse,  ''is  the  celebrated  Ilemperor  that  was  the  wonder 
of  Hastlej^'s  some  years  back,  and  was  parted  with  by  Mr. 
Ducrow  honl}^  because  his  feelin's  wouldn't  allow  him  to  keep 
him  no  longer  after  the  death  of  the  first  Mrs.  D.,  who  invaria- 
bly rode  him.  I  bought  him,  thinking  that  p'raps  ladies  and 
Cockne}^  bucks  might  like  to  ride  him  (for  his  haction  is  won- 
derful, and  he  ranters  hke  a  harm-chair)  ;  but  he's  not  safe  on 
any  daj^  except  Sundaj^s." 

"And  why's  that?"  asked  Captain  Walker.  "  Why  is  he 
safer  on  Sundays  than  other  days  ? " 

"  Because  there's  no  music  in  the  streets  on  Sundays.  The 
first  gent  that  rode  him  found  himself  dancing  a  quadrille  in 
Hupper  Brook  Street  to  an  'urdy-gurdy  that  was  playing 
'  Cherry  Ripe,'  such  is  the  natur  of  the  hanimal.  And  if  3'ou 
reklect  the  play  of  the  '  Battle  of  Hoysterlitz,'  in  which  Mrs. 
D.  hacted  '  the  female  hussar,'  you  may  remember  how  she  and 
the  horse  died  in  the  third  act  to  the  toon  of  '  God  preserve 
the  Emperor,'  from  which  this  horse  took  his  name.  Only  play 
that  toon  to  him,  and  he  rears  hisself  up,  beats  the  hair  in  time 
with  his  forelegs,  and  then  sinks  gentlj^  to  the  ground  as  though 
he  were  carried  off  b}^  a  cannon-ball.  He  served  a  lady  hoppo- 
site  Hapsle}^  Ouse  so  one  da}',  and  since  then  I've  never  let 
him  out  to  a  friend  except  on  Sunday,  when,  in  course,  there's 
no  danger.  Heglantine  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  of  course  I 
wouldn't  put  the  poor  fellow  on  a  hanimal  I  couldn't  trust." 

After  a  little  more  conversation,  ni}'  lord  and  his  friend 
quitted  Mr.  Snaffle's,  and  as  the}^  walked  awa}^  towards  the 
"  Regent,"  his  lordship  might  be  heard  shrieking  with  laughter, 
Qvy'mg^  ''Capital,  by  jingo !  exthlent !  Dwive  down  in  the 
dwag !  Take  Lungly.  Worth  a  thousand  pound,  by  Jove!" 
and  similar  ejaculations,  indicative  of  exceeding  delight. 

On  Saturda}^  morning,  at  ten  o'clock  to  a  moment,  Mr. 
Woolse}^  called  at  Mr.  Eglantine's  with  a  yellow  handkerchief 
under  his  arm.  It  contained  the  best  and  handsomest  bod}'- 
coat  that  ever  gentleman  put  on.  It  fitted  Eglantine  to  a 
nicet}'  —  it  did  not  pinch  him  in  the  least,  and  yet  it  was  of  so 
exquisite  a  cut  that  the  perfumer  found,  as  he  gazed  delighted 
in  the  glass,  that  he  looked  like  a  manly,  portly,  high-bred 


152 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


gentleman  —  a  lieutenant-colonel  in  the  arm}^,  at  the  very 
least. 

You're  a  full  man,  Eglantine,"  said  the  tailor,  delighted, 
too,  with  his  own  work  ;  but  that  can't  be  helped.  You  look 
more  like  Hercules  than  Falstaff  now,  sir ;  and  if  a  coat  can 
make  a  gentleman,  a  gentleman  you  are.  Let  me  recom- 
mend 3'ou  to  sink  the  blue  cravat,  and  take  the  stripes  off 
3'our  trousers.  Dress  quiet,  sir;  draw  it  mild.  Plain  waist- 
coat, dark  trousers,  black  neck-cloth,  black  hat,  and  if 
there's  a  better-dressed  man  in  Europe  to-morrow  I'm  a 
Dutchman." 

Tliauk  you,  Woolsey  —  thank  j-ou,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the 
charmed  perfumer.  And  now  I'll  just  trouble  you  to  try  on 
this  liere." 

The  wig  had  been  made  with  equal  skill ;  it  was  not  in  the 
florid  stj^le  which  Mr.  Eglantine  loved  in  his  own  person,  but, 
as  the  perfumer  said,  a  simple,  straightforward  head  of  hair. 

It  seems  as  if  it  had  grown  there  all  your  life,  Mr.  Woolsey ; 
nobody  would  tell  that  it  was  not  your  nat'ral  color"  (Mr. 
Woolsey  blushed) — ''it  makes  you  look  ten  year  younger; 
and  as  for  that  scarecrow  yonder,  you'll  never,  I  think,  want 
to  wear  that  again." 

Woolsey  looked  in  the  glass,  and  was  delighted  too.  The 
two  rivals  shook  hands  and  straightway  became  friends,  and  in 
the  overflo  ving  of  his  heart  the  perfumer  mentioned  to  the 
tailor  the  party  which  he  had  arranged  for  the  next  da}',  and 
otfered  him  a  seat  in  the  carriage  and  at  the  dinner  at  the 
"  Star  and  Garter."  ''  Would  you  like  to  ride?"  said  Eglan- 
tine, with  rather  a  consequential  air.  Snaffle  will  mount 
you,  and  we  can  go  one  on  each  side  of  the  ladies,  if  you 
like." 

But  Woolsey  humbly  said  he  was  not  a  riding  man,  and 
gladly  consented  to  take  a  place  in  the  Clarence  carriage, 
provided  he  was  allowed  to  bear  half  the  expenses  of  the 
entertainment.  This  proposal  was  agreed  to  by  Mr.  Eglantine, 
and  the  two  gentlemen  parted  to  meet  once  more  at  the  Kid- 
ney's "  that  night,  when  everybody  was  ediiied  by  the  friendly 
tone  ad()[)ted  between  them. 

Mr.  Snallle,  at  the  club  meeting,  made  the  very  same  pro- 
posal to  Mr.  Woolse}'  that  the  perfumer  had  made  ;  and  stated 
that  as  Eglantine  was  going  to  ride  Ilemperor,  Woolsey,  at 
least,  ought  to  mount  too.  But  he  was  met  b}'  the  same  modest 
refusal  on  the  tailor's  part,  who  stated  that  he  had  never 


THE  RAVENSWINGP. 


153 


mounted  a  horse  yet,  and  preferred  greatly  the  use  of  a 
coach. 

Eglantine's  character  as  a  ''swell"  rose  greatly  with  the 
club  that  evening. 

Two  o'clock  on  Sunday  came  :  the  two  beaux  arrived  punc- 
tualh'  at  the  door  lo  receive  the  two  smiUng  ladies. 

Bless  us,  Mr.  Eglantine  ! "  said  Miss  Crump,  quite  struck 
b}'  him,  ''  I  never  saw  3'ou  look  so  handsome  in  your  life." 
He  could  have  flung  his  arms  around  her  neck  at  the  compli- 
ment. ''  And  law.  Ma  !  what  has  happened  to  Mr.  Woolsey  ? 
doesn't  he  look  ten  years  younger  than  yesterday?  "  Mamma 
assented,  and  Woolsey  bowed  gallantly,  and  the  two  gentlemen 
exchanged  a  nod  of  heart}^  friendship. 

The  day  was  delightful.  Eglantine  pranced  along  magnifi- 
cently on  his  cantering  arm-chair,  with  his  hat  on  one  ear,  his 
left  hand  on  his  side,  and  his  head  flung  over  his  shoulder,  and 
throwing  under-glances  at  Morgiana  whenever  the  ''  Emperor" 
was  in  advance  of  the  Clarence.  The  Emperor"  pricked  up 
his  ears  a  little  uneasily  passing  the  Ebenezer  chapel  in  Rich- 
mond, where  the  congregation  were  singing  a  h^-mn,  but  beyond 
this  no  accident  occurred  ;  nor  w^as  Mr.  Eglantine  in  the  least 
stifl*  or  fatigued  by  the  time  the  party  reached  Richmond,  where 
he  arrived  time  enough  to  give  his  steed  into  the  chai'ge  of  an 
ostler,  and  to  present  his  elbow  to  the  ladies  as  they  alighted 
from  the  Clarence  carriage. 

What  this  jovial  party  ate  for  dinner  at  the  "  Star  and 
Garter"  need  not  here  be  set  down.  If  they  did  not  drink 
champagne  I  am  ver}^  much  mistaken.  They  were  as  merry 
as  any  four  people  in  Christendom ;  and  between  the  bewil- 
dering attentions  of  the  perfumer,  and  the  manl\'  courtesy  of 
the  tailor,  Morgiana  very  likek  forgot  the  gallant  captain,  or, 
at  least,  was  very  happy  in  his  absence. 

At  eight  o'clock  they  began  to  drive  homewards.  "  Wcii't 
you  come  into  the  carriage?  "  said  Morgiana  to  Eglantine,  with 
one  of  her  tenderest  looks;  "  Dick  can  ride  the  horse."  But 
Archibald  was  too  great  a  lover  of  equestrian  exercise.  "  I'm 
afraid  to  trust  anybod}^  on  this  horse,"  said  he  with  a  knowing 
look  ;  and  so  he  pranced  awa}'  b^^the  side  of  the  little  carriage. 
The  moon  was  brilliant,  and,  with  the  aid  of  the  gas-lamps, 
illuminated  the  whole  face  of  the  countr}'  in  a  way  inexpressi- 
bly lively. 

Presently,  in  the  distance,  the  sweet  and  plaintive  notes  of 
a  bugle  were  heard,  and  the  performer,  with  great  delicacy, 
executed  a  religious  air.     ''Music,  too!   heavenly!"  said 


154 


•  MEN'S  WIVES. 


Morgiana,  throwing  up  her  eyes  to  the  stats.  The  music  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  deUght  of  the  company  was  only 
more  intense.  The  fly  was  going  at  about  four  miles  an  hour, 
and  the  '  ^  Emperor "  began  cantering  to  time  at  the  same 
rapid  pace. 

"  This  must  be  some  gallantry  of  yours,  Mr.  Woolse}^,'*  said 
the  romantic  Morgiana,  turning  upon  that  gentleman.  ''Mr. 
Eglantine  treated  us  to  the  dinner,  and  you  have  provided  us 
w4th  the  music." 

Now  Woolsey  had  been  a  little,  a  very  little,  dissatisfied 
during  the  course  of  the  evening's  entertainment,  by  fancying 
that  Eglantine,  a  much  more  voluble  person  than  himself,  had 
obtained  rather  an  undue  share  of  the  ladies'  favor ;  and  as  he 
himself  paid  half  of  the  expenses,  he  felt  very  much  vexed  to 
think  that  the  perfumer  should  take  all  the  credit  of  the  busi- 
ness to  himself.  So  when  Miss  Crump  asked  if  he  had  pro- 
vided the  music,  he  foolishly  made  an  evasive  reply  to  her  query, 
and  rather  wished  her  to  imagine  that  he  had  performed  that 
piece  of  gallantr3\  ''If  it  pleases  you^  Miss  Morgiana,"  said 
this  artful  Schneider,  "  what  more  need  any  man  ask?  wouldn't 
I  have  all  Drury  Lane  orchestra  to  please  3^ou?" 

The  bugle  had  by  this  time  aii'ived  quite  close  to  the  Clar- 
ence carriage,  and  if  Morgiana  had  looked  round  she  might 
have  seen  whence  the  music  came.  Behuid  her  came  slowly  a 
drag,  or  private  stage-coach,  with  four  horses.  Two  grooms 
with  cockades  and  folded  arms  were  behind ;  and  driving  on 
the  box,  a  little  gentleman  with  a  blue  bird's-eye  neck-cloth,  and 
a  white  coat.  A  bugleman  was  by  his  side,  who  performed  the 
melodies  which  so  delighted  Miss  Crump.  He  played  very 
gently  and  sweetly,  and  "God  save  the  King"  trembled  so 
softly  out  of  the  brazen  orifice  of  his  bugle,  that  the  Crumps, 
the  tailor,  and  Eglantine  himself,  who  was  riding  close  by  the 
carriage,  were  quite  charmed  and  subdued. 

"  Thank  3^ou,  dear  Mr.  Woolsey,"  said  the  ^grateful  Morgi- 
ana ;  which  made  Eglantine  stare,  and  Woolsey  was  just  saying, 
"  Really,  upon  my  word,  I've  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  when  the 
man  on  the  drag-box  said  to  the  bugleman,  "  Now  !  " 

The  bugleman  began  the  tune  of — 

"  Heaven  preserve  our  Emperor  FrsFan-cis, 
Rum  tum-ti-tum-ti-titti-ti/' 

At  the  sound,  tlie  "  Emperor"  reared  himself  (with  a  roar  from 
Mr.  Eglantine)  —  reared  and  beat  the  air  with  his  fore-paws. 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


155 


Eglantine  flung  liis  arms  around  the  beast's  neck,  still  he  kept 
beating  time  with  his  fore-paws.  Mrs.  Crump  screamed  ;  Mr. 
Woolsey,  Dick,  the  Clarence  coachman.  Lord  Vaiixhall  (for  it 
was  he),  and  his  lordship's  two  grooms,  burst  into  a  shout  of 
laughter;  Morgiana  cries  Mercy  !  mercy!"  Eglantine  yells 
Stop  I  "  —  Wo  "  !  —  Oh  !  "  and  a  thousand  ejaculations  of 
hideous  terror;  until,  at  last,  down  drops  the  ^'Emperor" 
stone  dead  in  the  middle  of  the  road  as  if  carried  off  ])y  a 
cannon-ball. 

Fancy  the  situation,  3'-e  callous  souls  who  laugh  at  the  misery 
of  human  it}',  fancy  the  situation  of  poor  Eglantine  under  the 
''Emperor!"  He  had  fallen  verj^  easy,  the  animal  h\y  per- 
fectl}^  quiet,  and  the  perfumer  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
as  dead  as  the  animal.  He  had  not  fainted,  but  he  was  immova- 
ble with  terror ;  he  lay  in  a  puddle,  and  thought  it  was  his  own 
blood  gushing  from  him  ;  and  he  would  have  lain  there  until 
Monday  morning,  if  my  lord's  grooms,  descending,  had  not 
dragged  him  by  the  coat-collars  from  under  the  beast,  who  still 
la}^  quiet. 

''Play  'Charming  Judy  Callaghan,'  will  ye?"  says  Mr. 
Snaffle's  man,  the  fly-driver;  on  which  the  bugler  performed 
that  livel}'  air,  and  up  started  the  horse,  and  the  grooms,  who 
were  rubbing  Mr.  Eglantine  down  against  a  lamp-post,  invited 
him  to  remount. 

But  his  heart  was  too  broken  for  that.  The  ladies  gladly 
made  room  for  him  in  the  Clarence.  Dick  mounted 
"Emperor"  and  rode  homewards.  The  drag,  too,  drove 
away,  playing,  "O  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be?"  and  with 
a  scowl  of  furious  hate,  Mr.  Eglantine  sat  and  regarded  his 
rival.  His  pantaloons  were  split,  and  his  coat  torn  up  the 
back. 

"  Are  you  hurt  much,  dear  Mr.  Archibald?"  said  Morgiana, 
with  unaffected  compassion. 

"N-not  much,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  ready  to  burst  into 
tears. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Woolsey,"  added  the  good-natured  girl,  "how 
could  you  play  such  a  trick  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  word,"  Woolsey  began,  intending  to  plead  inno- 
cence ;  but  the  ludicrousness  of  the  situation  was  once  more 
too  much  for  him,  and  he  burst  out  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"You!  you  cowardly  beast!"  howled  out  Eglantine,  now 
driven  to  fur}^  —  "yoi^  laugh  at  me,  3'ou  miserable  cretur ! 
Take  that^  sir !  "  and  he  fell  upon  him  with  all  his  might  and 


156 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


wellnigh  throttled  the  tailor,  and  pummelling  his  e3^es,  his 
nose,  his  ears,  with  inconceivable  rapidit}^,  wrenched,  finally, 
his  wig  off  his  head  and  flung  it  into  the  road. 
Morgiana  saw  that  Woolsey  had  red  hair.* 


CHAPTER  lY. 

IN  WHICH   THE  HEROINE  HAS  A  NUMBER  MORE  LOVERS,  AND 
CUTS  A  VERY  DASHING  FIGURE  IN  THE  WORLD. 

Two  years  have  elapsed  since  the  festival  at  Richmond, 
which,  begun  so  peaceabl}',  ended  in  such  general  uproar.  Mor- 
giana never  could  be  brought  to  pardon  Woolsey's  red  hair,  nor 
to  help  laughing  at  Eglantine's  disasters,  nor  could  the  two  gen- 
tlemen be  reconciled  to  one  another.  Woolsey,  indeed,  sent  a 
challenge  to  the  perfumer  to  meet  him  with  pistols,  which  the  lat- 
ter declined,  saying,  justly,  that  tradesmen  had  no  business  with 
such  weapons  ;  on  this  the  tailor  proposed  to  meet  him  with 
coats  off,  and  have  it  out  like  men,  in  the  presence  of  their  friends 
of  the  Kidney  Club."  The  perfumer  said  he  would  be  party  to 
no  such  vulgar  transaction  ;  on  which,  Woolsey,  exasperated, 
made  an  oath  that  he  would  tweak  the  perfumer's  nose  so  surel}' 
as  he  ever  entered  the  club-room  ;  and  thus  one  member  of  the 
Kidneys  "  was  compelled  to  vacate  his  arm-chair. 

AYoolsey  himself  attended  every  meeting  regularly,  but  he 
did  not  evince  that  ga3^ety  and  good-humor  which  render  men's 
compan}^  agreeable  in  clubs.  On  arriving,  he  would  order  the 
boy  to  tell  him  when  that  scoundrel  Eglantine  came;"  and, 
hanging  up  his  hat  on  a  peg,  would  scowl  round  the  room,  and 
tuck  up  his  sleeves  very  high,  and  stretch,  and  shake  his  fingers 
and  wrists,  as  if  getting  them  read}^  for  that  pull  of  the  nose 
which  he  intended  to  bestow  upon  his  rival.  So  prepared,  he 
would  sit  down  and  smoke  his  pipe  quite  silently,  glaring  at  all, 
and  jumping  up,  and  hitching  up  his  coat-sleeves,  when  an}'  one 
entered  the  room. 

The  Kidneys  "  did  not  like  this  behavior.  Clinker  ceased 
to  come.  Bustard,  the  poulterer,  ceased  to  come.  As  for 
Snaffle,  he  also  disappeared,  for  Woolsey  wished  to  make  him 

*  A  Fren(;li  jmwerhe  furnislied  the  author  witli  the  notion  of  the  rivalry 
between  the  Barber  and  the  Tailor. 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


157 


answerable  for  the  misbehavior  of  Eglantine,  and  proposed  to 
him  the  duel  which  the  latter  had  declined.  So  Snaffle  went. 
Presently  tliey  all  went,  except  the  tailor  and  Tressle,  who  lived 
down  the  street,  and  these  two  would  sit  and  puff  their  tobacco, 
one  on  each  side  of  Crump,  the  landlord,  as  silent  as  Indian 
chiefs  in  a  wigwam.  There  grew  to  be  moni  and  more  room  for 
poor  old  Crump  in  his  chair  and  in  his  clothes  ;  the  Kidneys" 
were  gone,  and  wh\'  should  he  remain?  One  Saturday  he  did 
not  come  down  to  preside  at  the  club  (as  he  still  fondl)'  called 
it),  and  the  Saturday  following  Tressle  had  made  a  coffin  for 
him  ;  and  Woolsey,  with  the  undertaker  by  his  side,  followed 
to  the  grave  the  father  of  the  Kidneys." 

Mrs.  Crump  was  now  alone  in  the  world.  ''  How  alone?" 
says  some  innocent  and  respected  reader.  Ah  !  my  dear  sir, 
do  3^ou  know  so  little  of  human  nature  as  not  to  be  aware  that, 
one  week  after  the  Richmond  affair,  Morgiana  married  Captain 
Walker?  That  did  she  privately,  of  course;  and,  after  the 
ceremon}^,  came  tripping  back  to  her  parents,  as  young  people 
do  in  pla3's,  and  said,  ''Forgive  me,  dear  Pa  and  Ma,  Pm 
married,  and  here  is  my  husband,  the  Captain  !  "  Papa  and 
mamma  did  forgive  her,  as  why  shouldn't  the}*?  and  papa  paid 
over  her  fortune  to  her,  which  she  carried  home  delighted  to 
the  Captain.  This  happened  several  months  before  the  demise 
of  old  Crump  ;  and  Mrs.  Captain  Walker  was  on  the  Continent 
with  her  Howard  when  that  melancholy  event  took  place  ;  hence 
Mrs.  Crump's  loneliness  and  unprotected  condition.  Morgiana 
had  not  latterly  seen  much  of  the  old  people  ;  how  could  she, 
moving  in  her  exalted  sphere,  receive  at  her  genteel  new  resi- 
dence in  the  Edgew^are  Road,  the  old  publican  and  his  wife? 

Being,  then,  alone  in  the  world,  Mrs.  Crump  could  not 
abear,  she  said,  to  live  in  the  house  where  she  had  been  so 
respected  and  happy :  so  she  sold  the  good-will  of  the  ' '  Boot- 
jack," and,  with  the  money  arising  from  this  sale  and  her  own 
private  fortune,  being  able  to  muster  some  sixty  pounds  per 
annum,  retired  to  the  neighborhood  of  her  dear  old  "  Sadler's 
Wells,"  where  she  boarded  with  one  of  Mrs.  Serle's  forty  pupils. 
Her  heart  was  broken,  she  said  ;  but  nevertheless,  about  nine 
months  after  Mr.  Crump's  death,  the  wallflowers,  nasturtiums, 
polyanthuses  and  convolvuluses  began  to  blossom  under  her 
bonnet  as  usual ;  in  a  year  she  was  dressed  quite  as  fine  as 
ever,  and  now  never  missed  the  "  Wells,"  or  some  other  place 
of  entertainment,  one  single  night,  but  was  as  regular  as  the 
box-keeper.  Na}^  she  was  a  buxom  w^idow  still,  and  an  old 
flame  of  hers,  Fisk,  so  celebrated  as  pantaloon  in  Grimaldi's 


158 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


time,  but  now  doing  the  heavy  fathers''  at  the  "  Wells, '^pro- 
posed to  her  to  exchange  her  name  for  his. 

But  this  proposal  the  worthy  widow  declined  altogether. 
To  say  truth,  she  was  exceedingl}^  proud  of  her  daughter, 
Mrs.  Captain  Walker.  They  did  not  see  each  other  much  at 
first ;  but  every  now  and  then  Mrs.  Crump  would  paj'  a  visit  to 
the  folks  in  Connaught  Square;  and  on  the  days  when  ''the 
Captain's  "  lad}^  called  in  the  Cit}^  Road,  there  was  not  a  single 
official  at  "  The  AVells,"  from  the  first  tragedian  down  to  the 
call-bo}',  who  was  not  made  aware  of  the  fact. 

It  has  been  said  that  Morgiana  carried  home  her  fortune  in 
her  own  reticule,  and  smiling  placed  the  money  in  her  hus- 
band's lap  ;  and  hence  the  reader  ma}^  imagine,  who  knows 
Mr.  Walker  to  be  an  extremely  selfish  fellow,  that  a  great  scene 
of  anger  must  have  taken  place,  and  mau}^  coarse  oaths  and 
epithets  of  abuse  must  have  come  from  him,  when  he  found  that 
five  hundred  pounds  was  all  that  his  wife  had,  although  he  had 
expected  five  thousand  with  her.  But,  to  say  the  truth,  Walker 
was  at  this  time  almost  in  love  with  his  handsome,  ros}^  good- 
humored,  simple  wife.  They  had  made  a  fortnight's  tour,  dur- 
ing which  they  had  been  exceedingly  happ}' ;  and  there  was 
something  so  frank  and  touching  in  the  way  in  which  the  kind 
creature  flung  her  all  into  his  lap,  saluting  him  with  a  hearty 
embrace  at  the  same  time,  and  wishing  that  it  were  a  thousand 
billion  billion  times  more,  so  that  her  darling  Howard  might 
enjoy  it,  that  the  man  would  have  been  a  ruffian  indeed  could 
he  have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  be  angr}'  with  her  ;  and  so  he 
kissed  her  in  return,  and  patted  her  on  the  shining  ringlets, 
and  then  counted  over  the  notes  with  rather  a  disconsolate  air, 
and  ended  by  locking  them  up  in  his  portfolio.  In  fact,  she 
had  never  deceived  him  ;  Eglantine  had,  and  he  in  return  had 
out  tricked  Eglantine ;  and  so  warm  were  his  aflfections  for 
Morgiana  at  this  time,  that,  upon  my  word  and  honor,  I  don't 
think  he  repented  of  his  bargain.  Besides,  five  hundred  pounds 
in  crisp  bank-notes  was  a  sum  of  money  such  as  the  Captain 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  handling  ever}'  daj' ;  a  dashing,  san- 
guine fellow,  he  fancied  there  was  no  end  to  it,  and  alread}^ 
thought  of  a  dozen  ways  b}^  which  it  should  increase  and 
multiply  into  a  plum.  Woe  is  me  !  Has  not  man}'  a  simple 
soul  examined  five  new  hundred-pound  notes  in  this  way,  and 
calculated  their  powers  of  duration  and  multiplication  ! 

This  subject,  however,  is  too  painful  to  be  dwelt  on.  Let 
us  hear  what  Walker  did  with  his  mone3\  Why,  he  furnished 
the  house  in  the  Edge  ware  Road  before  n)entioned,  he  ordered 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


159 


a  handsome  service  of  plate,  he  s[)orted  a  phaeton  and  two 
ponies,  he  kept  a  couple  of  smart  maids  and  a  groom  foot-bo}^, 
—  in  fact,  he  mounted  just  such  a  neat,  unpretending,  gentle- 
manlike establishment  as  becomes  a  respectable  young  couple 
on  their  outset  in  life.  I've  sown  m}^  wild  oats,"  he  would 
say  to  his  acquaintances  ;  "a  few  years  since,  perhaps,  I  would 
have  longed  to  cut  a  dash,  but  now  prudence  is  the  word  ;  and 
I've  settled  every  farthing  of  Mrs.  Walker's  fifteen  thousand  on 
herself."  And  the  best  proof  that  the  world  had  confidence  in 
him  is  the  fact,  that  for  the  articles  of  plate,  equipage,  and 
furniture,  which  have  been  mentioned  as  being  in  his  posses- 
sion, he  did  not  pay  one  single  shilHng ;  and  so  prudent  was 
he,  that  but  for  turnpikes,  postage-stamps,  and  king's  taxes, 
he  hardly  had  occasion  to  change  a  five-pound  note  of  his  wife's 
fortune. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Walker  had  determined  to  make  his 
fortune.  And  what  is  easier  in  London?  Is  not  the  share- 
market  open  to  all?  Do  not  Spanish  and  Columbian  bonds 
rise  and  fall?  For  what  are  companies  invented  but  to  place 
thousands  in  the  pockets  of  shareholders  and  directors?  Into 
these  commercial  pursuits  the  gallant  Captain  now  plunged 
with  great  energy,  and  made  some  brilliant  hits  at  first  starting, 
and  bought  and  sold  so  opportunely,  that  his  name  began  to 
rise  in  the  City  as  a  capitalist,  and  might  be  seen  in  the  printed 
list  of  directors  of  many  excellent  and  philanthropic  schemes, 
of  which  there  is  never  any  lack  in  London.  Business  to  the 
amount  of  thousands  was  done  at  his  agency  ;  shares  of  vast 
value  were  bought  and  sold  under  his  management.  How  poor 
Mr.  Eglantine  used  to  hate  him  and  en v}' him.  as  from  the  door 
of  his  emporium  (the  firm  was  Eglantine  and  Mossrose  now)  he 
saw  the  Captain  daily  arrive  in  his  pony-phaeton,  and  heard  of 
the  start  he  had  taken  in  life. 

The  only  regret  Mrs.  Walker  had  w^as  that  she  did  not  enjoy 
enough  of  her  husband's  society.  His  business  called  him  away 
all  day  ;  his  business,  too,  obliged  him  to  leave  her  of  evenings 
very  frequently  alone  ;  whilst  he  (always  in  pursuit  of  business) 
was  dining  with  his  great  friends  at  the  club,  and  drinking 
claret  and  champagne  to  the  same  end. 

She  w^as  a  perfectly  good-natured  and  simple  soul,  and 
never  made  him  a  single  reproach  ;  but  when  he  could  pass  an 
evening  at  home  with  her  she  was  delighted,  and  when  he  could 
drive  with  her  in  the  Park  she  w^as  happy  for  a  week  after.  On 
these  occasions,  and  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart,  she  would  drive 
to  her  motlier  and  tell  her  story.       How\ard  drove  with  me  in 


160 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


the  Park  yesterdays  mamma  ;  "  "  Howard  has  promised  to  take 
me  to  the  Opera,"  and  so  forth.  And  that  evening  the  man- 
ager, Mr.  Gawler,  the  first  tragedian,  Mrs.  Serle  and  her  forty 
pupils,  all  the  box-keepers,  bonnet-women  —  nay,  the  ginger- 
beer  girls  themselves  at  The  A¥ells,"  knew  that  Captain  and 
Mrs.  Walker  were  at  Kensington  Gardens,  or  were  to  have  the 
Marchioness  of  Billingsgate's  box  at  the  Opera.  One  night  — 
O  joy  of  joys! — Mrs.  Captain  Walker  appeared  in  a  private 
box  at  The  Wells."  That's  she  with  the  black  ringlets  and 
Cashmere  shawl,  smeUing-bottle,  and  black  velvet  gown,  and 
bird  of  paradise  in  her  hat.  Goodness  gracious  !  how  they  all 
acted  at  her.  Gawler  and  all,  and  how  happy  Mrs.  Crump  was ! 
She  kissed  her  daughter  between  all  the  acts,  she  nodded  to  all 
her  friends  on  the  stage,  in  the  slips,  or  in  the  real  water ;  she 
introduced  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Captain  Walker,  to  the  box- 
opener ;  and  Melvil  Delamere  (the  first  comic),  Canterfield 
(the  t^Tant),  and  Jonesini  (the  celebrated  Fontarabian  Statu- 
esque), were  all  on  the  steps,  and  shouted  for  Mrs.  Captain 
Walker's  carriage,  and  waved  their  hats,  and  bowed  as  the 
little  ponj'-phaeton  drove  away.  Walker,  in  his  moustaches, 
had  come  in  at  the  end  of  the  play,  and  was  not  a  little  grati- 
fied by  the  comphments  paid  to  himself  and  lady. 

Among  the  other  articles  of  luxury  with  which  the  Captain 
furnished  his  house  we  must  not  omit  to  mention  an  extremely^ 
grand  piano,  which  occupied  four-fifths  of  Mrs.  Walker's  little 
back  drawing-room,  and  at  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  prac- 
tising continually.  All  da}'  and  all  night  during  Walker's  ab- 
sences (and  these  occurred  all  night  and  all  day)  3'ou  might 
hear  —  the  whole  street  might  hear  —  the  voice  of  the  lad}^ 
at  No.  23  gurglhig,  and  shaking,  and  quavering,  as  ladies  do 
when  they  practise.  The  street  did  not  approve  of  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  noise  ;  but  neighbors  are  diflicult  to  please,  and 
what  would  Morgiana  have  had  to  do  if  she  had  ceased  to  sing? 
It  would  be  hard  to  lock  a  blackbird  in  a  cage  and  prevent  him 
from  singing  too.  And  so  Walker's  blackbird,  in  the  snug  little 
cage  in  the  Edgeware  Road,  sang  and  was  not  unhapl)3^ 

After  the  pair  had  been  married  for  about  a  year,  the  "omni- 
bus that  passes  both  by  Mrs.  Crump's  house  near  The  AVells," 
and  by  Mrs.  Walker's  street  oflf  the  Edgeware  Road,  brought  up 
the  former-named  lady  almost  ever}^  da}'  to  her  daughter.  She 
came  when  the  Captain  had  gone  to  his  business  ;  she  stayed  to 
a  two-o'clock  dinner  with  Morgiana,  she  drove  with  her  in  the 
pony-carriage  round  the  Park,  but  she  never  stoi)ped  later  than 
six.    Had  she  not  to  go  to  the  play  at  seven?    And,  besides, 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


161 


the  Captain  might  come  home  with  some  of  his  great  friends, 
and  he  always  swore  and  grumbled  much  if  he  found  his  mother- 
in-law  on  the  premises.  As  for  Morgiana,  she  was  one  of  those 
women  who  encourage  despotism  in  husbands.  What  the  hus- 
band says  must  be  right,  because  he  says  it ;  what  he  orders 
must  be  obeyed  trembhngiy.  Mrs.  Walker  gave  up  her  entire 
reason  to  her  lord.  Wliy  was  it?  Before  marriage  she  had 
been  an  independent  little  person  ;  she  had  far  more  brains 
than  her  Howard.  I  think  it  must  have  been  his  moustaches 
that  frightened  her,  and  caused  in  her  this  humility. 

Selfish  husbands  have  this  advantage  in  maintaining  with 
easj'-minded  wives  a  rigid  and  inflexible  behavior,  viz.,  that  if 
the}'  do  hy  any  chance  grant  a  little  favor,  the  ladies  receive  it 
with  such  transports  of  gratitude  as  they  would  never  think 
of  showing  to  a  lord  and  master  who  was  accustomed  to  give 
them  everj'thing  the}^  asked  for ;  and  hence,  when  Captain 
Walker  signified  his  assent  to  his  wife's  prayer  that  she  should 
take  a  singing-master,  she  thought  his  generosity  almost  divine, 
and  fell  upon  her  mamma's  neck,  when  that  lad}'  came  the  next 
day,  and  said  what  a  dear  adorable  angel  her  Howard  was,  and 
what  ought  she  not  to  do  for  a  man  who  had  taken  her  from 
her  humble  situation,  and  raised  her  to  be  what  she  was  !  What 
she  was,  poor  soul !  She  was  the  wife  of  a  swindling  parvenu 
gentleman.  She  received  visits  from  six  ladies  of  her  husband's 
acquaintances,  —  two  attorneys'  ladies,  his  bill-broker's  lad}', 
and  one  or  two  more,  of  whose  characters  we  had  best,  if  you 
please,  say  nothing  ;  and  she  thought  it  ai^i  honor  to  be  so  dis- 
tinguished :  as  if  Walker  had  been  a  Lord  Exeter  to  marry  a 
humble  maiden,  or  a  noble  prince  to  fall  in  love  with  a  humble 
Cinderella,  or  a  majestic  Jove  to  come  down  from  heaven  and 
woo  a  Semele.  Look  through  the  world,  respectable  reader, 
and  among  your  honorable  acquaintances,  and  say  if  this  sort 
of  faith  in  women  is  not  very  frequent?  They  will  believe  in 
their  husbands,  whatever  the  latter  do.  Let  John  be  dull, 
ugly,  vulgar,  and  a  humbug,  his  Mary  Ann  never  finds  it  out ; 
let  him  tell  his  stories  ever  so  many  times,  there  is  she  always 
ready  with  her  kind  smile;  let  him  be  stingy,  she  says  he  is 
prudent ;  let  him  quarrel  with  his  best  friend,  she  says  he  is 
always  in  the  right ;  let  him  be  prodigal,  she  says  he*^  is  gen- 
erous, and  that  his  health  requires  enjoyment ;  let  him  be  Tdle, 
he  must  have  relaxation  ;  and  she  will  pinch  herself  and  her 
household  that  he  may  have  a  guinea  for  his  club.  Yes  ;  and 
every  morning,  as  she  wakes  and  looks  at  the  face,  snoring  on 
the  pillow  by  her  side  —  every  morning,  I  say,  she  blesses  that 

11 


162 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


dull,  ugly  countenance,  and  the  dull  ugl}^  soul  reposing  there, 
and  thinks  both  are  something  divine.  I  want  to  know  how  it 
is  that  women  do  not  find  out  their  husbands  to  be  humbugs  ? 
Nature  has  so  provided  it,  and  thanks  to  her.  When  last  year 
they  were  acting  the  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  and  all 
the  boxes  began  to  roar  with  great  coarse  heehaws  at  Titania 
hugging  Bottom's  long  long  ears  —  to  me,  considering  these 
things,  it  seemed  that  there  were  a  hundred  other  male  brutes 
squatted  round  about,  and  treated  just  as  reasonably  as  Bottom 
was.  Their  Titanias  lulled  them  to  sleep  in  their  laps,  sum- 
moned a  hundred  smiling,  delicate,  household  fairies  to  tickle 
their  gross  intellects  and  minister  to  their  vulgar  pleasures  ; 
and  (as  the  above  remarks  are  only  supposed  to  apply  to  honest 
women  loving  their  own  lawful  spouses)  a  mercy  it  is  that  no 
wicked  Puck  is  in  the  way  to  open  their  e3^es,  and  point  out 
their  folly.  Cui  hoiio  ?  let  them  live  on  in  their  deceit :  I  know 
two  lovely  ladies  who  will  read  this,  and  w^ill  say  it  is  just  verj^ 
likel}',  and  not  see  in  the  least  that  it  has  been  written  regard- 
ing them. 

Another  point  of  sentiment,  and  one  curious  to  speculate  on. 
Have  you  not  remarked  the  immense  works  of  art  that  women 
get  through?  The  worsted-work  sofas,  the  counterpanes 
patched  or  knitted  (but  these  are  among  the  old-fashioned  in 
the  countr}^),  the  bushels  of  pincushions,  the  albums  they 
laboriously  fill,  the  tremendous  pieces  of  music  the}'  practise, 
the  thousand  other  fiddle-faddles  which  occup}'  the  attention 
of  the  dear  souls  —  nay,  have  we  not  seen  them  seated  of  even- 
ings in  a  squad  or  company,  Louisa  emplo3'ed  at  the  worsted- 
work  before  mentioned,  Eliza  at  the  pincushions,  Amelia  at 
card-racks  or  filigree  matches,  and,  in  the  midst,  Theodosia 
with  one  of  the  candles,  reading  out  a  novel  aloud?  Ah  !  my 
dear  sir,  mortal  creatures  must  be  very  hard  put  to  it  for  amuse- 
ment, be  sure  of  that,  when  they  are  forced  to  gather  together 
in  a  compan}'  and  hear  novels  read  aloud  !  They  only  do  it 
because  the}^  can't  help  it,  depend  upon  it :  it  is  a  sad  life,  a 
poor  pastime.  Mr.  Dickens,  in  his  American  book,  tells  of 
the  prisoners  at  the  silent  prison,  how  they  had  ornamented 
their  rooms,  some  of  them  with  a  frightful  prettiness  and  elab- 
oration. Women's  fancy-work  is  of  this  sort  often  —  only 
prison  work,  done  because  there  was  no  other  exercising- 
ground  for  their  poor  little  thoughts  and  fingers ;  and  hence 
these  wonderful  pincushions  are  executed,  these  counterpanes 
woven,  these  sonatas  learned.  By  everything  sentimental, 
when  I  see  two  kind,  innocent,  fresh-cheeked  young  women 


THE  RAVENSWrXG. 


163 


go  to  a  piano,  and  sit  down  opposite  to  it  upon  two  chairs 
piled  with  more  or  less  music-books  (according  to  their  con- 
venience), and,  so  seated,  go  through  a  set  of  double-barrelled 
variations  upon  this  or  that  tune  by  Ilerz  or  Kalkbrenner,  —  I 
say,  far  from  receiving  any  satisfaction  at  the  noise  made  by 
the  performance,  my  too  susceptible  heart  is  given  up  entirel}' 
to  bleeding  for  the  performers.  What  hours,  and  weeks,  nay, 
preparatory  years  of  stnd}',  has  that  infernal  jig  cost  them  ! 
What  sums  has  papa  paid,  what  scoldings  has  mamma  admin- 
istered (''Lady  Bullblock  does  not  play  herself,"  Sir  Thomas 
says,  ''but  she  has  naturall}^  the  finest  ear  for  music  ever 
known!")  ;  what  evidences  of  slavery,  in  a  word,  are  there! 
It  is  the  condition  of  the  young  lady's  existence.  She  break- 
fasts at  eight,  she  does  "  Mangnall's  Questions"  with  the 
governess  till  ten,  she  practises  till  one,  she  walks  in  the 
square  with  bars  round  her  till  two,  then  she  practises  again, 
then  she  sews  or  hems,  or  reads  French,  or  Hume's  "  Histor}'," 
then  she  comes  down  to  play  fo  papa,  because  he  likes  music 
whilst  he  is  asleep  after  dinner,  and  then  it  is  bedtime,  and 
the  morrow  is  another  da}^  with  what  are  called  the  same 
''duties"  to  be  gone  through.  A  friend  of  mine  went  to  call 
at  a  nobleman's  house  the  other  da}',  and  one  of  the  young 
ladies  of  the  house  came  into  the  room  with  a  tray  on  her  head  ; 
this  tray  was  to  give  Lady  Maria  a  graceful  carriage.  Man 
Dieu  !  and  who  knows  but  at  that  moment  Lady  Bell  was  at 
work  with  a  pair  of  her  dumb  namesakes,  and  Lady  Sophy 
Ij'ing  flat  on  a  stretching-board  ?  I  could  write  whole  articles 
on  this  theme  :  but  peace  !  we  are  keeping  Mrs.  Walker  wait- 
ing all  the  while. 

Well,  then,  if  the  above  disquisitions  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  stor}^  as  no  doubt  they  have,  I  wish  it  to  be  under- 
stood that,  during  her  husband's  absence,  and  her  own  solitary' 
confinement,  Mrs.  Howard  Walker  bestowed  a  prodigious  quan- 
tity of  her  time  and  energy  on  the  cultivation  of  her  musical 
talent ;  and  having,  as  before  stated,  a  ver}'  fine  loud  voice, 
speedily  attained  no  ordinary  skill  in  the  use  of  it.  She  first 
had  for  teacher  little  Podmore,  the  fat  chorus-master  at  "  The 
Wells,"  and  who  had  taught  her  mother  the  '' Tink-a-tink " 
song  which  has  been  such  a  favorite  since  it  first  appeared. 
He  grounded  her  well,  and  bade  her  eschew  the  singing  of  all 
those  "Eagle  Tavern"  ballads  in  which  her  heart  formerl}^ 
delighted  ;  and  when  he  had  brought  her  to  a  certain  point  of 
skill,  the  honest  little  chorus-master  said  she  should  have  a 
still  better  instructor,  and  wrote  a  note  to  Captain  Walker  (en- 


164 


MLN'S  WIVES. 


closing  his  own  little  account),  speaking  in  terms  of  the  most 
flattering  encomium  of  his  lady's  progress,  and  recommending 
that  she  should  take  lessons  of  the  celebrated  Baroski.  Captain 
Walker  dismissed  Podmore  then,  and  engaged  Signor  Baroski, 
at  a  vast  expense  ;  as  he  did  not  fail  to  tell  his  wife.  In  fact, 
he  owed  Baroski  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  twent}-  guineas 
when  he  was  .  .  .  But  we  are  advancing  matters. 

Little  Baroski  is  the  author  of  the  opera  of  Ehogabalo," 
of  the  oratorio  of  Purgatorio,"  which  made  such  an  immense 
sensation,  of  songs  and  ballet-musics  innumerable.  He  is  a 
German  hy  birth,  and  shows  such  an  outrageous  partialitv  for 
pork  and  sausages,  and  attends  at  church  so  constantlj^,  that 
I  am  sure  there  cannot  be  an^^  foundation  in  the  stor}^  that  he 
is  a  member  of  the  ancient  religion.  He  is  a  fat  little  man, 
with  a  hooked  nose  and  jetty  whiskers,  and  coal-black  shining 
eyes,  and  plenty  of  rings  and  jewels  on  his  fingers  and  about 
his  person,  and  a  very  considerable  portion  of  his  shirt-sleeves 
turned  over  his  coat  to  take  the  air.  His  great  hands  (which 
can  sprawl  over  half  a  piano,  and  produce  those  effects  on  the 
instrument  for  which  he  is  celebrated)  are  encased  in  lemon- 
colored  kids,  new,  or  cleaned  daily.  Parenthetically,  let  us 
ask  why  so  many  men,  with  coarse  red  wrists  and  big  hands, 
persist  in  the  white  kid  glove  and  wristband  system?  Baroski's 
gloves  alone  must  cost  him  a  little  fortune  ;  only  he  says  with 
a  leer,  when  asked  the  question,  ''Get  along  vid  you;  don't 
you  know  dere  is  a  gloveress  that  lets  me  have  dem  very  sheap  ?  " 
He  rides  in  the  Park  ;  has  splendid  lodgings  in  Dover  Street ; 
and  is  a  member  of  the  ''Regent  Club,"  where  he  is  a  great 
source  of  amusement  to  the  members,  to  whom  he  tells  aston- 
ishing stories  of  his  successes  with  the  ladies,  and  for  whom  he 
has  always  play  and  opera  tickets  in  store.  His  e3^e  glistens 
and  his  little  heart  beats  when  a  lord  speaks  to  him  ;  and  he 
has  been  known  to  spend  large  sums  of  money  in  giving  treats 
to  young  sprigs  of  fashion  at  Richmond  and  elsewhere.  "  In 
my  bolyticks,"  he  says,  "I  am  consarevatiff  to  de  bag-bone." 
In  fine,  he  is  a  pupp}^  and  withal  a  man  of  considerable  genius 
in  his  profession. 

This  gentleman  then  undertook  to  complete  the  musical  edu- 
cation of  Mrs.  Walker.  He  exi)ressed  himself  at  once  "  en- 
shanted  vid  her  gnbabilities,"  found  that  the  extent  of  her  voice 
was  "  brodigious,"  and  guaranteed  that  she  should  become  a 
first-rate  sing(ir.  The  [)u\n\  was  ai)t,  tlie  master  was  exceed- 
ingl}'  skilful;  and,  accordingly,  Mrs.  Walker's  progress  was 
very  remarkable  :  although,  for  her  part,  honest  Mrs.  Crump, 


THE  RAVENSWmG. 


165 


who  used  to  attend  her  daughter's  lessons,  would  grumble  not  a 
little  at  the  new  system,  and  the  endless  exercises  which  she, 
Morgiana,  was  made  to  go  through.  It  was  very  different  in 
her  time,  she  said.  Incledon  knew  no  music,  and  who  could 
sing  so  well  now  ?  Give  her  a  good  English  ballad  ;  it  was 
a  thousand  times  sweeter  than  your  "Figaros"  and  Se- 
miramides." 

In  spite  of  these  objections,  however,  and  with  amazing 
perseverance  and  cheerfulness,  Mrs.  Walker  pursued  the  meth- 
od of  study  pointed  out  to  her  by  her  master.  As  soon  as 
her  husband  went  to  the  Cit}^  in  the  morning  her  operations 
began  ;  if  he  remained  away  at  dinner,  her  labors  still  con- 
tinued :  nor  is  it  necessary  for  me  to  particularize  her  course 
of  study,  nor,  indeed,  possible  ;  for,  between  ourselves,  none 
of  the  male  Fitz-Boodles  ever  could  sing  a  note,  and  the  jar- 
gon of  scales  and  solfeggios  is  quite  unknown  to  me.  But 
as  no  man  can  have  seen  persons  addicted  to  music  without 
remarking  the  prodigious  energies  they  displa}'  in  the  pursuit, 
as  there  is  no  father  of  daughters,  however  ignorant,  but  is 
aware  of  the  piano-rattling  and  voice-exercising  which  goes  on 
in  his  house  from  morning  till  night,  so  let  all  fancy,  without 
further  inquiry,  how  the  heroine  of  our  story  was  at  this  stage 
of  her  existence  occupied. 

Walker  was  delighted  with  her  progress,  and  did  everything 
but  pay  Baroski,  her  instructor.  We  know  why  he  didn't  pa}'. 
It  was  his  nature  not  to  pay  bills,  except  on  extreme  com- 
pulsion ;  but  why  did  not  Baroski  employ  that  extreme 
compulsion?  Because,  if  he  had  received  his  money,  he  would 
have  lost  his  pupil,  and  because  he  loved  his  pupil  more  than 
money.  Rather  than  lose  her,  he  would  have  given  her  a  guinea 
as  well  as  her  cachet.  He  would  sometimes  disappoint  a  great 
personage,  but  he  never  missed  his  attendance  on  her ;  and  the 
truth  must  out  that  he  was  in  love  with  her,  as  Woolsej'  and 
Eglantine  had  been  before. 

"  By  the  immortel  Chofe  !  "  he  would  say,  dat  letell  ding 
sents  me  mad  vid  her  big  ice  !  But  only  vait  avile  :  in  six  veeks 
I  can  bring  any  voman  in  England  on  her  knees  to  me  ;  and  3  0U 
shall  see  vat  I  vill  do  vid  m}-  Morgiana."  He  attended  her  for 
six  weeks  punctuall}',  and  yet  Morgiana  was  never  brought 
down  on  her  knees  ;  he  exhausted  his  best  stock  of  gombli- 
mends,"  and  she  never  seemed  disposed  to  receive  them  with 
an3'thing  but  laughter.  And,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  onl}' 
grew  more  infatuated  with  the  lovely  creature  who  was  so  pro- 
vokingiy  good-humored  and  so  laughingl}-  cruel. 


166 


MEK'S  WIVES. 


Benjamin  Baroski  was  one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  the 
musical  profession  in  London  ;  he  charged  a  guinea  for  a  lesson 
of  three-quarters  of  an  hour  abroad,  and  he  had,  furthermore,  a 
school  at  his  own  residence,  where  pupils  assembled  in  consid- 
erable numbers,  and  of  that  curious  mixed  kind  which  those 
may  see  who  frequent  these  places  of  instruction.  There  were 
very  innocent  young  ladies  with  their  mammas,  who  would  hurry 
them  off  trembling  to  the  farther  corner  of  the  room  when  cer- 
tain doubtful  professional  characters  made  their  appearance. 
There  was  Miss  Grigg,  who  sang  at  the  FoundUng,"  and  Mr. 
Johnson,  who  sang  at  the  Eagle  Tavern,"  and  Madame  Fio- 
ravanti  (a  very  doubtful  character),  who  sang  nowhere,  but  was 
always  coming  out  at  the  Italian  Opera.  There  was  Lumley 
Limpiter  (Lord  Tweedledale's  son),  one  of  the  most  accom- 
plished tenors  in  town,  and  who,  we  have  heard,  sings  with  the 
professionals  at  a  hundred  concerts  ;  and  with  him,  too,  was 
Captain  Guzzard  of  the  Guards,  with  his  tremendous  bass 
voice,  which  all  the  world  declared  to  be  as  fine  as  Porto's,  and 
w^ho  shared  the  applause  of  Baroski's  school  with  Mr.  Bulger, 
the  dentist  of  Sackville  Street,  who  neglected  his  ivor}^  and  gold 
plates  for  his  voice,  as  ever}^  unfortunate  individual  will  do  who 
is  bitten  by  the  music  mania.  Then  among  the  ladies  there 
were  a  half-score  of  dubious  pale  governesses  and  professionals 
with  turned  frocks  and  lank  damp  bandeaux  of  hair  under 
shabby  little  bonnets  ;  luckless  creatures  these,  who  were  part- 
ing with  their  poor  little  store  of  half-guineas  to  be  enabled  to 
sa}'  the}"  were  pupils  of  Signor  Baroski,  and  so  get  pupils  of 
their  own  among  the  British  3'ouths,  or  employment  in  the 
choruses  of  the  tlieatres. 

The  prima  donna  of  the  little  company  was  Amelia  Larkins, 
Baroski's  own  articled  pupil,  on  whose  future  reputation  the 
eminent  master  staked  his  own,  whose  profits  he  was  to  share, 
and  whom  he  had  farmed,  to  this  end,  from  her  father,  a  most 
respectable  sheriff's  officer's  assistant,  and  now,  by  his  daugh- 
ter's exertions,  a  considerable  capitalist.  Amelia  is  blond 
and  blue-eyed,  her  complexion  is  as  bright  as  snow,  her  ring- 
lets of  the  color  of  straw,  her  figure  —  but  why  describe  her 
figure?  Has  not  all  the  world  seen  her  at  the  Theatres  Ro3'al 
and  in  America  under  the  name  of  Miss  Ligonier? 

Until  Mrs.  Walker  arrived.  Miss  Larkins  was  the  undis- 
l)utcd  princess  of  the  Baroski  company  —  the  Semiramide,  the 
Rosina,  the  Tamina,  the  Donna  Anna.  Baroski  vaunted  her 
everywhere  as  the  great  rising  genius  of  the  day,  bade  Cata- 
lani  look  to  her  laurels,  and  questioned  whether  Miss  Stephens 


THE  RAVENSWTNG. 


167 


eould  sing  a  ballad  like  his  pupil.  Mrs.  Howard  Walker  ar* 
rived  and  created,  on  the  first  occasion,  no  small  sensation. 
She  improved,  and  the  little  society  became  speedil}'  divided 
into  Walkerites  and  Larkinsians  ;  and  between  these  two  ladies 
(as,  indeed,  between  Guzzard  and  Bulger  before  mentioned, 
between  Miss  Brunck  and  Miss  Horsman,  the  two  contraltos, 
and  between  the  chorus-singers,  after  their  kind)  a  great  rivahy 
arose.  Larkins  was  certainly  the  better  singer  ;  but  could  her 
straw-colored  curls  and  dump}^  high-shouldered  figure  bear  an}' 
comparison  with  the  jett}^  ringlets  and  stately  form  of  Mor- 
giana?  Did  not  Mrs.  Walker,  too,  come  to  the  music-lesson  in 
her  carriage,  and  with  a  black  velvet  gown  and  Cashmere 
shawl,  while  poor  Larkins  meekly  stepped  from  Bell  Yard, 
Temple  Bar,  in  an  old  print  gown  and  clogs,  which  she  left  in 
the  hall?  ''Larkins  sing!"  said  Mrs.  Crump,  sarcasticall}' ; 
''  I'm  sure  she  ought ;  her  mouth's  big  enough  to  sing  a  duet." 
Poor  Larkins  had  no  one  to  make  epigrams  in  her  behoof ;  her 
mother  was  at  home  tending  the  younger  ones,  her  father 
abroad  following  the  duties  of  his  profession  ;  she  had  but  one 
protector,  as  she  thought,  and  that  one  was  Baroski.  Mrs. 
Crump  did  not  fail  to  tell  Lumley  Limpiter  of  her  own  former 
triumphs,  and  to  sing  him  '' Tink-a-tink,"  which  we  have  pre- 
viously heard,  and  to  stat^  how  in  former  days  she  had  been 
called  the  Ravens  wing.  And  Lumley,  on  this  hint,  made  a 
poem  in  which  he  compared  Morgiana's  hair  to  the  plumage  of 
the  Raven's  wing,  and  Larkinissa's  to  that  of  the  canar}' ;  by 
which  two  names  the  ladies  began  soon  to  be  known  in  the 
school. 

Ere  long,  the  flight  of  the  Ravenswing  became  evidenth' 
stronger,  whereas  that  of  the  canary  was  seen  evidently  to 
droop.  When  Morgiana  sang,  all  the  room  would  cry  bravo  ; " 
when  Amelia  performed,  scarce  a  hand  was  raised  for  applause 
of  her,  except  Morgiana's  own,  and  that  the  Larkinses  thought 
was  lifted  in  odious  triumph,  rather  than  in  sympathy,  for 
Miss  L.  was  of  an  envious  turn,  and  little  understood  the 
generosity  of  her  rival. 

At  last,  one  da}-,  the  crowning  victory  of  the  Ravenswing 
came.  In  the  trio  of  Baroski's  own  opera  of  Eliogabalo," 
"Rosy  lips  and  rosy  wine,"  Miss  Larkins,  who  was  evidently 
unwell,  was  taking  the  part  of  the  English  captive,  which  she 
had  sung  in  public  concerts  before  royal  dukes,  and  with  con- 
siderable applause,  and,  from  some  reason  performed  it  so  ill, 
that  Baroski,  slapping  down  the  music  on  the  piano  in  a  fury, 
cried,  ''  Mrs.  Howard  A\"alker,  as  Miss  Larkins  cannot  sing  to- 


168 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


da}^  willj^ou  favor  us  b}'  taking  the  part  of  Boadicetta? Mrs. 
AValker  got  up  smilingly  to  obey  —  the  triumph  was  too  great 
to  be  withstood  ;  and,  as  she  advanced  to  the  piano,  Miss  Lar- 
kins  looked  wildl}^  at  her,  and  stood  silent  for  a  while,  and,  at 
last,  shrieked  out,  Benjamin! in  a  tone  of  extreme  agonj', 
and  dropped  fainting  down  on  the  ground.  Benjamin  looked 
extremeh'  red,  it  must  be  confessed,  at  being  thus  called  by 
what  we  shall  denominate  his  Christian  name,  and  Limpiter 
looked  round  at  Guzzard,  and  Miss  Brunck  nudged  Miss  Hors- 
inan,  and  the  lesson  concluded  rather  abruptly  that  day  ;  for 
Miss  Larkins  was  carried  oft*  to  the  next  room,  laid  on  a  couch, 
and  sprinkled  with  water. 

Good-natured  Morgiana  insisted  that  her  mother  should  take 
Miss  Larkins  to  Bell  Yard  in  her  carriage,  and  went  herself 
home  on  foot ;  but  1  don't  know  that  this  piece  of  kindness 
prevented  Larkins  from  hating  her.    I  should  doubt  if  it  did. 

Hearing  so  much  of  his  wife's  skill  as  a  singer,  the  astute 
Captain  Walker  determined  to  take  advantage  of  it  for  the 
purpose  of  increasing  his  connection."  He  had  Lumley 
Limpiter  at  his  house  before  long,  which  was,  indeed,  no  great 
matter,  for  honest  Lum  would  go  anywhere  for  a  good  dinner, 
and  an  opportunity  to  show  off*  his  voice  afterwards,  and  Lumley 
was  begged  to  bring  any  more  clerks  in  the  Treasury  of  his 
acquaintance  ;  Captain  Guzzard  was  invited,  and  any  officers 
of  the  Guards  whom  he  might  choose  to  bring  ;  Bulger  received 
occasional  cards:  —  in  a  word,  and  after  a  short  time,  Mrs. 
Howard  Walker's  musical  parties  began  to  be  considerably 
suivies.  Her  husband  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  his  rooms 
filled  by  many  great  personages  ;  and  once  or  twice  in  return 
(indeed,  whenever  she  was  wanted,  or  when  people  could  not 
aff*ord  to  hire  the  first  singers)  she  was  asked  to  parties  else- 
where, and  treated  with  that  killing  civility  which  our  English 
aristocracy  knows  how  to  bestow  on  artists.  Clever  and  wise 
aristocracy  !  It  is  sweet  to  mark  your  wa^  s,  and  study  3'our 
commerce  with  inferior  men. 

I  was  just  going  to  commence  a  tirade  regarding  the  aristoc- 
racy here,  and  to  rage  against  the  cool  assumption  of  superiority 
which  distinguishes  their  lordships'  commerce  with  artists  of  all 
sorts  :  that  politeness  which,  if  it  condescend  to  receive  artists 
at  all,  takes  care  to  have  them  all  together,  so  that  there  can  be 
no  mistake  about  their  rank  —  that  august  patronage  of  art 
which  rewards  it  with  a  silly  flourish  of  knighthood,  to  be  sure, 
but  takes  care  to  exclude  it  from  any  contact  with  its  betters  in 
society,  —  I  was,  I  say,  just  going  to  commence  a  tirade  against 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


169 


the  aristocracy  for  excluding  artists  from  their  company,  and 
to  be  extremely  satirical  upon  them,  for  instance,  for  not  receiv- 
ing my  friend  Morgiana,  when  it  suddenly  came  into  my  head 
to  ask,  was  Mrs.  Walker  fit  to  move  in  the  best  society?  —  to 
w4iich  quer}^  it  must  humbly  be  replied  that  she  was  not.  Her 
education  was  not  such  as  to  make  her  quite  the  equal  of  Baker 
Street.  She  was  a  kind,  honest,  and  clever  creature  ;  but,  it 
must  be  confessed,  not  refined.  Wherever  she  went  she  had, 
if  not  the  finest,  at  any  rate  the  most  showy  gown  in  the  room  ; 
her  ornaments  were  the  biggest :  her  hats,  toques,  berets,  mar- 
abouts, and  other  fallals,  always  the  most  conspicuous.  She 
drops  h's  "  here  and  there.  I  have  seen  her  eat  pease  with  a 
knife  (and  Walker,  scowling  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 
striving  in  vain  to  catch  her  e3^e)  ;  and  I  shall  never  forget 
Lad}'  Smigmags  horror  when  she  asked  for  porter  at  dinner  at 
Richmond,  and  began  to  drink  it  out  of  the  pewter  pot.  It  was 
a  fine  sight.  She  lifted  up  the  tankard  with  one  of  the  finest 
arms,  covered  with  the  biggest  bracelets  ever  seen  ;  and  had  a 
bird  of  paradise  on  her  head,  that  curled  round  the  pewter  disk 
of  the  pot  as  she  raised  it,  like  a  halo.  These  peculiarities  she 
had,  and  has  still.  She  is  best  awa}^  from  the  genteel  world, 
that  is  the  fact.  When  she  says  that  '^The  weather  is  so  'ot 
that  it  is  quite  debiliating  ; "  when  she  laughs,  when  she  hits 
her  neighbor  at  dinner  on  the  side  of  the  waistcoat  (as  she  will 
if  he  should  say  anything  that  amuses  her),  she  does  what  is 
perfectly  natural  and  unafi'ected  on  her  part,  but  what  is  not 
customarily  done  among  polite  persons,  who  can  sneer  at  her 
odd  manners  and  her  vanity,  but  don't  know  the  kindness, 
honesty,  and  simplicity  which  distinguish  her.  This  point  being 
admitted,  it  follows,  of  course,  that  the  tirade  against  the  aris- 
tocracy would,  in  the  present  instance,  be  out  of  place  —  so  it 
shall  be  reserved  for  some  other  occasion. 

The  Ravenswing  was  a  person  admirably  disposed  by  na- 
ture to  be  happy.  She  had  a  disposition  so  kindly  that  any 
small  attention  would  satisfy  it ;  was  pleased  when  alone  ;  was 
delighted  in  a  crowd ;  was  charmed  with  a  joke,  however  old  ; 
was  alwa3's  ready  to  laugh,  to  dance,  to  sing,  or  to  be  merry  ;  was 
so  tender-hearted  that  the  smallest  ballad  would  make  her  cry, 
and  hence  was  supposed,  by  many  persons,  to  be  extremely 
aflfected,  and  by  almost  all,  to  be  a  downright  coquette.  Sev- 
eral competitors  for  her  favor  presented  themselves  besides 
Baroski.  Young  dandies  used  to  canter  round  her  phaeton  in 
the  Park,  and  might  be  seen  haunting  her  doors  in  the  morn- 
ings.   The  fashionable  artist  of  the  day  made  a  drawing  of  her, 


170 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


which  was  engraved  and  sold  in  the  shops ;  a  copy  of  it  was 
printed  in  a  song,  "  Black-eyed  Maiden  of  Araby,"  the  words 
by  Desmond  Mulligan,  Esq.,  the  music  composed  and  dedicated 
to  Mrs.  Howard  Walker,  by  her  most  faithful  and  obliged 
servant,  Benjamin  Baroski ;  and  at  night  her  Opera-box  was 
full.  Her  Opera-box?  Yes,  the  heiress  of  the  ''Bootjack" 
actually  had  an  Opera-box,  and  some  of  the  most  fashionable 
manhood  of  London  attended  it. 

Now,  in  fact,  was  the  time  of  her  greatest  prosperity ;  and 
her  husband  gathering  these  fashionable  characters  about  him, 
extended  his  "agency"  considerably^,  and  began  to  thank  his 
stars  that  he  had  married  a  woman  who  was  as  good  as  a  for- 
tune to  him. 

In  extending  his  agenc}^  however,  Mr.  Walker  increased  his 
expenses  proportionably,  and  multiplied  his  debts  accordingly. 
More  furniture  and  more  plate,  more  wines  and  more  dinner- 
parties, became  necessary  ;  the  little  pony'-phaeton  was  ex- 
changed for  a  brougham  of  evenings  ;  and  we  may  fancy  our 
old  friend  Mr.  Eglantine's  rage  and  disgust,  as  he  looked  up 
from  the  pit  of  the  Opera,  to  see  Mrs.  Walker  surrounded  by 
what  he  called  "  the  swell  young  nobs"  about  London,  bowing 
to  my  lord,  and  laughing  with  his  grace,  and  led  to  her  carriage 
by  Sir  John. 

The  Ravenswing's  position  at  this  period  was  rather  an  ex- 
ceptional one.  She  was  an  honest  woman,  visited  b}^  that 
peculiar  class  of  our  aristocracy  who  chiefly  associate  with 
ladies  who  are  not  honest.  She  laughed  with  all,  but  she  en- 
couraged none.  Old  Crump  was  constantly  at  her  side  now 
when  she  appeared  in  public,  the  most  watchful  of  mammas, 
always  awake  at  the  Opera,  though  she  seemed  to  be  always 
asleep  ;  but  no  dand}^  debauchee  could  deceive  her  vigilance, 
and  for  this  reason.  Walker,  who  disliked  her,  (as  every  man 
naturally  will,  must,  and  should  dislike  his  mother-in-law,)  was 
contented  to  suffer  her  in  his  house  to  act  as  a  chaperon  to 
Morgiana. 

None  of  the  3'oung  dandies  ever  got  admission  of  mornings 
to  the  little  mansion  in  the  Edgeware  Road  ;  the  blinds  were 
always  down  ;  and  though  you  might  hear  Morgiana's  voice 
half  across  the  Park  as  she  was  practising,  yet  the  3'outhful 
hall-porter  in  the  sugar-loaf  buttons  was  instructed  to  den}^  her, 
and  always  declared  that  his  mistress  was  gone  out,  with  the 
most  admirable  assurance. 

After  some  two  years  of  her  lif(i  of  s[)lendor,  there  were,  to 
be  sure,  a  good  number  of  morning  visitors,  who  came  w^ith 


THE  RAVENS  WING. 


171 


single  knocks,  and  asked  for  Captain  Walker ;  but  these  were 
no  more  admitted  than  the  dandies  aforesaid,  and  were  referred, 
generally,  to  the  Captain's  office,  whither  they  went  or  not  at 
their  convenience.  The  only  man  who  obtained  admission  into 
the  house  was  Baroski,  whose  cab  transported  him  thrice  a 
week  to  the  neighborhood  of  Con  naught  Square,  and  who  ob- 
tained read}^  entrance  in  his  professional  capacit}^ 

But  even  then,  and  much  to  the  wicked  Uttle  music-master's 
disappointment,  the  dragon  Crump  was  always  at  the  piano 
with  her  endless  worsted  work,  or  else  reading  her  unfailing 
Sunday  Times;  and  Baroski  could  onl}^  employ  ''de  langvitch 
of  de  ice,"  as  he  called  it,  with  his  fair  pupil,  who  used  to  mimic 
his  manner  of  rolhng  his  eyes  about  afterwards,  and  per- 
formed Baroski  in  love,"  for  the  amusement  of  her  husband 
and  her  mamma.  The  former  had  his  reasons  for  overlooking 
the  attentions  of  the  little  music-master ;  and  as  for  the  latter, 
had  she  not  been  on  the  stage,  and  had  not  many  hundreds  of 
persons,  in  jest  or  earnest,  made  love  to  her?  What  else  can 
a  pretty  woman  expect^  who  is  much  before  the  public  ?  And 
so  the  worth}^  mother  counselled  her  daughter  to  bear  these 
attentions  with  good  humor,  rather  than  to  make  them  a  sub- 
ject of  perpetual  alarm  and  quarrel. 

Baroski,  then,  was  allowed  to  go  on  being  in  love,  and  was 
never  in  the  least  disturbed  in  his  passion  ;  and  if  he  was  not 
successful,  at  least  the  little  wretch  could  have  the  pleasure  of 
hinting  that  he  was,  and  looking  particularly  roguish  when  the 
Ravenswing  was  named,  and  assuring  his  friends  at  the  club, 
that  "  upon  his  vort  dere  vas  no  trut  in  dat  rehort" 

At  last  one  day  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Crump  did  not  arrive 
in  time  for  her  daughter's  lesson  (perhaps  it  rained  and  the 
omnibus  was  full  —  a  smaller  circumstance  than  that  has 
changed  a  whole  life  ere  now) — Mrs.  Crump  did  not  arrive, 
and  Baroski  did,  and  Morgiana,  seeing  no  great  harm,  sat 
down  to  her  lesson  as  usual,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  down  went 
the  music-master  on  his  knees,  and  made  a  declaration  in  the 
most  eloquent  terms  he  could  muster. 

Don't  be  a  fool,  Baroski !  "  said  the  lady —  (I  can't  help 
it  if  her  language  was  not  more  choice,  and  if  she  did  not  rise 
with  cold  dignity,  exclaiming,  ''Unhand  me,  sir!"  —  "don't 
be  a  fool ! "  said  Mrs.  Walker,  "  but  get  up  and  let's  finish  the 
lesson." 

"You  hard-hearted  adorable  little  greature,  vil  you  not 
listen  to  me  ?  "  • 

"No,  I  vill  not  listen  to  you,  Benjamin!"  concluded  the 


172 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


lad  y ;  ' '  get  up  and  take  a  chair,  and  don't  go  on  in  that 
ridiklous  wa}',  don't !  " 

But  Baroski,  having  a  speech  by  heart,  determined  to 
deliver  himself  of  it  in  that  posture,  and  begged  Morgiana  not 
to  turn  avay  her  divine  hice,  and  to  listen  to  de  voice  of  his 
despair,  and  so  forth  ;  he  seized  the  lady's  hand,  and  was  go- 
ing to  press  it  to  his  lips,  when  she  said,  with  more  spirit,  per- 
haps, than  grace,  — 

''  Leave  go  my  hand,  sir  ;  I'll  box  your  ears  if  3^ou  don't !  " 

But  Baroski  wouldn't  release  her  hand,  and  was  proceeding 
to  imprint  a  kiss  upon  it,  and  Mrs.  Crump,  who  had  taken  the 
omnibus  at  a  quarter  past  twelve,  instead  of  that  at  twelve, 
had  just  opened  the  drawing-room  door  and  was  walking  in, 
when  Morgiana,  turning  as  red  as  a  peony,  and  unable  to 
disengage  her  left  hand  which  the  musician  held,  raised  up  her 
right  hand,  and,  with  all  her  might  and  main,  gave  her  lover 
such  a  tremendous  slap  in  the  face  as  caused  him  abruptly  to 
release  the  hand  which  he  held,  and  w^ould  have  laid  him  pros- 
trate on  the  carpet  but  for  Mrs.  Crump,  who  rushed  forward 
and  prevented  him  from  falling  b}^  administering  right  and  left 
a  whole  shower  of  slaps,  such  as  he  had  never  endured  since 
the  day  he  was  at  school. 

''What  imperence  !  "  said  that  worthy  lady;  "you'll  lay 
hands  on  my  daughter  will  you?  (one,  two).  You'll  insult  a 
woman  in  distress,  you  little  coward?  (one,  two).  Take  that, 
and  mind  3'our  manners,  you  filthy  monster  1  " 

Baroski  bounced  up  in  a  fury.  "  By  Chofe,  you  shall  hear 
of  dis  !  "  shouted  he  ;  "  you  shall  pay  me  dis  !  " 

"As  many  more  as  you  please,  httle  Benjamin,"  cried  the 
widow.  "  Augustus"  (to  the  page),  "  was  that  the  Captain's 
knock?"  At  this  Baroski  made  for  his  hat.  "  Augustus,  show 
this  imperence  to  the  door,  and  if  he  tries  to  come  in  again, 
call  a  policeman  :  do  you  hear?  " 

The  music-master  vanished  very  rapidly,  and  the  two  ladies, 
instead  of  being  frightened  or  falling  into  hysterics  as  their 
betters  would  have  done,  laughed  at  the  odious  monster  s  dis- 
comfiture, as  they  called  him.  "  Such  a  man  as  that  set  him- 
self up  against  my  Howard  !  "  said  Morgiana,  with  becoming 
pride  ;  but  it  was  agreed  between  them  that  Howard  should 
know  nothing  of  what  had  occurred,  for  fear  of  quarrels,  or 
lest  he  should  be  annoyed.  80  when  he  came  home  not  a  word 
was  said  ;  and  only  that  his  wife  met  him  with  more  warmth 
than  usual,  you  could  not  have  guews^ed  that  anything  extraor- 
dinary had  occurred.    It  is  not  my  fault  that  my  heroine's  sensi- 


THE  RAVENSWTNG. 


173 


bilities  were  not  inore  keen,  that  she  had  not  the  least  occasion 
for  sal-volatile  or  symptom  of  a  fainting  lit ;  bat  so  it  was,  and 
Mr.  Howard  Walker  knew  nothing  of  the  quarrel  between  his 
wife  and  her  instructor,  until  .  .  . 

Until  he  was  arrested  next  day  at  the  suit  of  Benjamin 
Baroski  for  two  hundred  and  twent}^  guineas,  and,  in  default  of 
payment,  was  conducted  b}'  Mr.  Tobias  Larkins  to  his  princi- 
pal's lock-up  house  in  Chancery  Lane. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  WHICH  MR.   WALKER    FALLS  INTO  DIFFICULTIES,    AND  MRS. 
WALKER  MAKES  MANY  FOOLISH  ATTEMPTS  TO  RESCUE  HIM. 

I  HOPE  the  beloved  reader  is  not  silly  enough  to  imagine 
that  Mr.  Walker,  on  finding  himself  inspunged  for  debt  in 
Chancery  Lane,  was  so  foolish  as  to  think  of  applying  to  an}' 
of  his  friends  (those  great  personages  who  have  appeared  every 
now  and  then  in  the  course  of  this  little  history,  and  have 
served  to  give  it  a  fashionable  air).  No,  no;  he  knew  the 
world  too  well :  and  that,  though  Billingsgate  would  give  him  as 
man}'  dozen  of  claret  as  he  could  carry  away  under  his  belt, 
as  the  phrase  is  (I  can't  help  it,  Madam,  if  the  phrase  is  not 
more  genteel),  and  though  Vauxhall  would  lend  him  his  car- 
riage, slap  him  on  the  back,  and  dine  at  his  house  ;  their  lord- 
ships would  have  seen  Mr.  Walker  depending  from  a  beam  in 
front  of  the  Old  Bailey  rather  than  have  helped  him  to  a  hun- 
dred pounds. 

And  why,  forsooth,  should  we  expect  otherwise  in  the  world  ? 
I  observe  that  men  who  complain  of  its  selfishness  are  quite  as 
selfish  as  the  world  is,  and  no  more  liberal  of  money  than  their 
neighbors  ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  with  regard  to  Captain  Walker 
that  he  would  have  treated  a  friend  in  want  exactl}'  as  he  when 
in  want  was  treated.  There  was  only  his  lady  who  was  in  the 
least  afflicted  by  his  captivity  ;  and  as  for  the  club,  that  went 
on,  we  are  bound  to  say,  exactly  as  it  did  on  the  da}'  previous 
to  his  disappearance. 

By  the  way,  about  clubs,  —  could  we  not,  but  for  fear  of  de- 
taining the  fair  reader  too  long,  enter  into  a  wholesome  disser- 
tation here,  on  the  manner  of  friendship  established  in  those 


174 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


institutions,  and  the  noble  feeling  of  selfishness  which  the}'  are 
likeh^  to  encourage  in  the  male  race  ?  I  put  out  of  the  question 
the  stale  topics  of  complaint,  such  as  leaving  home,  encourag- 
ing gormandizing  and  luxurious  habits,  &c.  ;  but  look  also 
at  the  dealings  of  club-men  with  one  another.  Look  at  the 
rush  for  the  evening  paper  !  See  how  Shiverton  orders  a  fire 
in  the  dog-da^^s,  and  Swettenham  opens  the  windows  in  Febru- 
ar}' .  See  how  Cramley  takes  the  whole  breast  of  the  turke}^  on 
his  plate,  and  how  man}^  times  Jenkins  sends  awa}^  his  beg- 
garl}'  half-pint  of  sherry  !  Clubber}^  is  organized  egotism.  Club 
intimacy  is  carefully  and  wonderfully  removed  from  friendship. 
You  meet  Smith  for  twenty-  years,  exchange  the  day's  news 
with  him,  laugh  with  him  over  the  last  joke,  grow  as  well 
acquainted  as  two  men  ma}'  be  together  —  and  one  day,  at  the 
end  of  the  list  of  members  of  the  club,  you  read  in  a  little 
paragraph  b}'  itself,  with  all  the  honors, 

MEMBER  DECEASED. 

Smithy  John^  Esq, ; 

or  he,  on  the  other  hand,  has  the  advantage  of  reading  j'our 
own  name  selected  for  a  similar  typographical  distinction. 
There  it  is,  that  abominable  little  exclusive  list  at  the  end  of 
every  club  catalogue  —  you  can't  avoid  it.  I  belong  to  eight 
clubs  myself,  and  know  that  one  3^ear  Fitz-Boodle,  George 
Savage,  Esq.  (unless  it  should  please  fate  to  remove  my  brother 
and  his  six  sons,  when  of  course  it  would  be  Fitz-Boodle,  Sir 
George  Savage,  Bart.),  will  appear  in  the  dismal  category. 
There  is  that  list ;  down  I  must  go  in  it :  —  the  day  will  come, 
and  I  shan't  be  seen  in  the  bow-window,  some  one  else  will  be 
sitting  in  the  vacant  arm-chair  :  the  rubber  will  begin  as  usual, 
and  3'et  somehow  Fitz  will  not  be  there.  '^Where's  Fitz?" 
sa3's  Trumpington,  just  arrived  from  the  Rhine.  "Don't  you 
know?"  says  Punter,  turning  down  his  thumb  to  the  carpet. 
"You  led  the  club,  I  think?"  sajs  Ruff  to  his  partner  (the 
other  partner !),  and  the  waiter  snuffs  the  candles. 


T  hope  in  the  course  of  the  above  little  pause,  every  single 
member  of  a  club  who  reads  this  has  profited  by  the  perusal. 
He  may  belong,  1  say,  to  eight  clubs,  he  will  die  and  not  be 
missed  by  an}'  of  the  five  thousand  members.  Peace  be  to 
him  ;  the  waiters  will  forget  him,  and  his  name  will  pass  away, 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


175 


and  another  great-coat  will  hang  on  the  hook  whence  his  own 
used  to  be  dependent. 

And  this,  I  need  not  sa}^  is  the  beanty  of  the  club-institu- 
tions. If  it  were  otherwise,  —  if,  forsooth,  we  were  to  be  sorry 
when  our  friends  died,  or  to  draw  out  our  purses  when  our 
friends  were  in  want,  we  should  be  insolvent,  and  Hfe  would  be 
miserable.  Be  it  ours  to  button  up  our  pockets  and  our  hearts  ; 
and  to  make  merry  —  it  is  enough  to  swim  down  this  life-stream 
for  ourselves  ;  if  Povert}^  is  clutching  hold  of  our  heels,  or 
Friendship  would  catch  an  arm,  kick  them  both  off.  Everj^ 
man  for  himself,  is  the  word,  and  plenty  to  do  too. 

My  friend  Captain  Walker  had  practised  the  above  maxims 
so  long  and  resolutel}'  as  to  be  quite  aware  when  he  came  him- 
self to  be  in  distress,  that  not  a  single  soul  in  the  whole  uni- 
verse would  help  him,  and  he  took  his  measures  accordingly. 

When  carried  to  Mr.  Bendigo's  lock-up  house,  he  summoned 
that  gentleman  in  a  very  haughty  way,  took  a  blank  banker's 
check  out  of  his  pocket-book,  and  filling  it  up  for  the  exact 
sum  of  the  writ,  orders  Mr.  Bendigo  forthwith  to  open  the  door 
and  let  him  go  forth. 

Mr.  Bendigo,  smiling  with  exceeding  archness,  and  putting 
a  finger  covered  all  over  with  diamond  rings  to  his  extreme Ij^ 
aquiUne  nose,  inquired  of  Mr.  Walker  whether  he  saw  an}^- 
thing  green  about  his  face?  intimating  by  this  gay  and  good- 
humored  interrogatory  his  suspicion  of  the  unsatisfactor}'  nature 
of  the  document  handed  over  to  him  by  IMr.  Walker. 

Hang  it,  sir  !  "  says  Mr.  Walker,  go  and  get  the  check 
cashed,  and  be  quick  about  it.  Send  3'our  man  in  a  cab,  and 
here's  a  half-crown  to  pay  for  it."  The  confident  air  somewhat 
staggers  the  baihff,  who  asked  him  whether  he  would  like  any 
refreshment  while  his  man  was  absent  getting  the  amount  of 
the  check,  and  treated  his  prisoner  with  great  civilit}'  during 
the  time  of  the  messenger's  journey. 

But  as  Captain  Walker  had  but  a  balance  of  two  pounds 
five  and  twopence  (this  sum  was  afterwards  divided  among  his 
creditors,  the  law  expenses  being  previous!}'  deducted  from  it), 
the  bankers  of  course  declined  to  cash  the  Captain's  draft  for 
two  hundred  and  odd  pounds,  simply  writing  the  words  ''  no 
effects "  on  the  paper ;  on  receiving  which  reply  Walker,  far 
from  being  cast  down,  burst  out  laughing  very  gayl}',  produced 
a  real  five-pound  note,  and  called  upon  his  host  for  a  bottle  of 
champagne,  which  the  two  worthies  drank  in  perfect  friendship 
and  good-humor.  The  bottle  was  scarcely  finished,  and  the 
young  Israelitish  gentleuian  who  acts  as  waiter  in  Cursitor 


176 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Street  had  only  time  to  remove  the  flask  and  the  glasses,  when 
poor  Morgiana  with  a  flood  of  tears  rushed  into  her  husband's 
arms,  and  flung  herself  on  his  neck,  and  calling  him  her  dear- 
est, blessed  Howard,"  would  have  fainted  at  his  feet ;  but  that 
he,  breaking  out  in  a  fur}^  of  oaths,  asked  her  how,  after  get- 
ting him  into  that  scrape  through  her  infernal  extravagance, 
she  dared  to  show  her  face  before  him  ?  This  address  speedil}^ 
frightened  the  poor  thing  out  of  her  fainting  fit  —  there  is 
nothing  so  good  for  female  h^'sterics  as  a  little  conjugal  stern- 
ness, nay  brutahtj^,  as  many  husbands  can  aver  who  are  in  the 
habit  of  employing  the  remedy. 

"  My  extravagance,  Howard?"  said  she,  in  a  faint  way  ;  and 
quite  put  off*  her  purpose  of  swooning  by  the  sudden  attack 
made  upon  her  —  "  Surel}^,  m}^  love,  you  have  nothing  to  com- 
plain of — " 

^'To  complain  of,  ma'am  ?"  roared  the  excellent  Walker. 
"  Is  two  hundred  guineas  to  a  music-master  nothing  to  complain 
of?  Did  you  bring  me  such  a  fortune  as  to  authorize  j^our 
taking  guinea  lessons?  Haven't  I  raised  you  out  of  your 
sphere  of  life  and  introduced  you  to  the  best  of  the  land? 
Haven't  I  dressed  you  like  a  duchess?  Haven't  I  been  for 
you  such  a  husband  as  very  few  women  in  the  world  ever 
had,  madam? — answer  me  that." 

"  Indeed,  Howard,  you  were  alwa3^s  very  kind,"  sobbed 
the  lady. 

"Haven't  I  toiled  apd  slaved  for  you, — been  out  all  day 
working  for  you?  Haven't  I  allowed  your  vulgar  old  mother  to 
come  to  your  house  —  to  my  house,  I  say?  Haven't  I  done  all 
this?" 

She  could  not  den}^  it,  and  Walker,  who  was  in  a  rage  (and 
when  a  man  is  in  a  rage,  for  what  on  earth  is  a  wife  made  for 
but  that  he  should  vent  his  rage  on  her?),  continued  for  some 
time  in  this  strain,  and  so  abused,  frightened,  and  overcame 
poor  Morgiana,  that  she  left  her  husband  fuU}^  convinced  that 
she  was  the  most  guilty  of  beings,  and  bemoaning  his  double 
bad  fortune,  that  her  Howard  was  ruined  and  she  the  cause  of 
his  misfortunes. 

When  she  was  gone,  Mr.  Walker  resumed  his  equanimity 
(for  he  was  not  one  of  those  men  whom  a  few  months  of  the 
King's  Bench  were  likely  to  terrify),  and  drank  several  glasses 
of  punch  in  company  with  his  host ;  with  whom  in  perfect  calm- 
ness he  talked  over  his  aff*airs.  That  he  intended  to  pay  his 
debt  and  quit  the  spunging-house  next  day  is  a  matter  of  course  ; 
no  one  ever  was  yet  put  in  a  spunging-house  that  did  not  pledge 


THE  RAVE^NTSWING. 


177 


his  veracity  he  intended  to  quit  it  to-morrow.  Mr.  Bendigo 
said  he  should  be  heartily  glad  to  open  the  door  to  him,  and  in 
the  meantime  sent  out  diligently  to  see  among  his  friends  if 
there  were  any  more  detainers  against  the  Captain,  and  to  in- 
form the  Captain's  creditors  to  come  forward  against  him. 

Morgiana  went  home  in  profound  grief,  it  may  be  imagined, 
and  could  hardly  refrain  from  bursting  into  tears  when  the 
sugar-loaf  page  asked  whether  master  was  coming  home  early, 
or  whether  he  had  taken  his  key  ;  she  la}^  awake  tossing  and 
wretched  the  whole  night,  and  very  early  in  the  morning  rose 
up,  and  dressed,  and  went  out. 

Before  nine  o'clock  she  was  in  Cursitor  Street,  and  once 
more  joyfull}^  bounced  into  her  husband's  arms  ;  w^ho  woke  up 
yawning  and  sw^earing  somewhat,  with  a  severe  headache,  oc- 
casioned by  the  jollification  of  the  previous  night :  for,  strange 
though  it  may  seem,  there  are  perhaps  no  places  in  Europe 
where  jollity  is  more  practised  than  in  prisons  for  debt ;  and  I 
declare  for  ray  own  part  (I  mean,  of  course,  that  I  went  to  visit 
a  friend)  I  have  dined  at  Mr.  Aminadab's  as  sumptuouslj'  as  at 
Long's. 

But  it  is  necessary  to  account  for  Morgiana's  joyfulness  ; 
which  was  strange  in  her  husband's  perplexity,  and  after  her 
sorrow^  of  the  previous  night.  Well,  then,  when  Mrs.  Walker 
went  out  in  the  morning,  she  did  so  with  a  ver}^  large  basket 
under  her  arm.  "  Shall  I  carr}^  the  basket,  ma'am?"  said  the 
page,  seizing  it  with  much  alacrity. 

No,  thank  you,"  cried  his  mistress,  with  equal  eagerness  : 
''it's  only  —  " 

"  Of  course,  ma'am,"  replied  the  bo}^,  sneering,  "  I  knew  it 
was  that." 

"  Glass,"  continued  Mrs.  Walker,  turning  extremely  red. 
"  Have  the  goodness  to  call  a  coach,  sir,  and  not  to  speak  till 
you  are  questioned." 

The  young  gentleman  disappeared  upon  his  errand  :  the 
coach  was  called  and  came.  Mrs.  Walker  shpped  into  it  with 
her  basket,  and  the  page  went  down  stairs  to  his  companions  in 
the  kitchen,  and  said,  ''It's  a  comin' !  master's  in  quod,  and 
missus  has  gone  out  to  paw^n  the  plate."  When  the  cook  went 
out  that  day,  she  somehow  had  by  mistake  placed  in  her  basket 
a  dozen  of  table-knives  and  a  phited  egg-stand.  When  the 
lady's-maid  took  a  walk  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  she 
found  she  had  occasion  for  eight  cambric  pocket-handkerchiefs 
(marked  with  her  mistress's  cipher),  half  a  dozen  pair  of  shoes, 
gloves,  long  and  short,  some  silk  stockings,  and  a  gold-headed 

12 


178 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


scent-bottle.  "Both  the  new  cashmeres  is  gone,"  said  she, 
"and  there's  nothing  left  in  Mrs.  Walker's  trinket-box  but  a 
paper  of  pins  and  an  old  coral  bracelet."  As  for  the  page,  he 
rushed  incontinently  to  his  master's  dressing-room  and  examined 
ever}'  one  of  the  pockets  of  his  clothes  ;  made  a  parcel  of  some 
of  them,  and  opened  all  the  drawers  which  Walker  had  not 
locked  before  his  departure.  He  onl}'  found  three-half-pence 
and  a  bill-stamp,  and  about  forty- five  tradesmen's  accounts, 
neatl}'  labelled  and  tied  up  with  red  tape.  These  three  wor- 
thies, a  groom,  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  Trimmer  the  lady's- 
maid,  and  a  pohceman,  a  friend  of  the  cook's,  sat  down  to  a 
comfortable  dinner  at  the  usual  hour,  and  it  was  agreed  among 
them  all  that  Walker's  ruin  was  certain.  The  cook  made  the 
policeman  a  present  of  a  china  punch-bowl  which  Mrs.  Walker 
had  given  her  ;  and  the  lad3''s-maid  gave  her  friend  the  "  Book 
of  Beauty  "  for  last  year,  and  the  third  volume  of  Byron's  poems 
from  the  drawing-room  table. 

"  I'm  dash'd  if  she  ain't  taken  the  little  French  clock,  too," 
said  the  page,  and  so  indeed  Mrs.  W^alker  had  ;  it  slipped  in 
the  basket  where  it  lay  enveloped  in  one  of  her  shawls,  and 
then  struck  madly  and  unnaturally  a  great  number  of  times,  as 
Morgiana  was  lifting  her  store  of  treasures  out  of  the  hackney- 
coach.  The  coachman  wagged  his  head  sadly  as  he  saw  her 
walking  as  quick  as  she  could  under  her  heavy  load,  and  disap- 
pearing round  the  corner  of  the  street  at  which  Mr.  Balls's  cele- 
brated jewellery  establishment  is  situated.  It  is  a  grand  shop, 
with  magnificent  silver  cups  and  salvers,  rare  gold-headed 
canes,  flutes,  watches,  diamond  brooches,  and  a  few  fine  speci- 
mens of  the  old  masters  in  the  window,  and  under  the  words  — 

Balls,  Jeweller, 

you  read, 

Money  Lent. 

in  the  very  smallest  type  on  the  door. 

The  interview  with  Mr.  Balls  need  not  be  described ;  but  it 
must  have  been  a  satisfactory  one,  for  at  the  end  of  half  an 
hour  Morgiana  returned  and  bounded  into  the  coach  with  spark- 
ling eyes,  and  told  the  driver  to  gallop  to  Cursitor  Street ;  which, 
smiling,  he  promised  to  do,  and  accordingly  set  ofi'  in  that  direc- 
tion at  the  rate  of  four  miles  an  hour.  "  I  thought  so,"  said  the 
philosophic  charioteer.  "When  a  man's  in  quod,  a  woman 
don't  mind  her  silver  spoons  :  "  and  he  was  so  delighted  with  hei 
action,  that  he  forgot  to  grumble  when  she  came  to  settle  acv 
counts  with  him,  even  though  she  gave  him  only  double  his  fare. 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


179 


"Take  me  to  him,"  said  she  to  the  young  Hebrew  who 
opened  the  door. 

"To  whom?"  says  the  sarcastic  youth;  "there's  twenty 
hims  here.    You're  precious  early." 

"  To  Captain  Walker,  young  man,"  replied  Morgiana  haugh- 
tily ;  whereupon  the  youth  opening  the  second  door,  and  seeing 
Mr.  Bendigo  in  a  flowered  dressing-gown  descending  the  stairs 
exclaimed,  "  Papa,  here's  a  lady  for  the  Captain."  "  I'm  come 
to  free  him,"  said  she,  trembling  and  holding  out  a  bundle  of 
bank-notes.  "Here's  the  amount  of  your  claim,  sir  —  two 
hundred  and  twenty  guineas,  as  you  told  me  last  night."  The 
Jew  took  the  notes,  and  grinned  as  he  looked  at  her,  and 
grinned  double  as  he  looked  at  his  son,  and  begged  Mrs.  Walker 
to  step  into  his  stud}'  and  take  a  receipt.  When  the  door  of 
that  apartment  closed  upon  the  lady  and  his  father,  Mr.  Ben- 
digo the  younger  fell  back  in  an  agony  of  laughter,  which  it  is 
impossible  to  describe  in  words,  and  presently  ran  out  into  a 
court  where  some  of  the  luckless  inmates  of  the  house  were 
already  taking  the  air,  and  communicated  something  to  them 
which  made  those  individuals  also  laugh  as  uproariously  as  he 
had  previously  done. 

Well,  after  joyfully  taking  the  receipt  from  Mr.  Bendigo 
(how  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  heart  fluttered  as  she  dried  it 
on  the  blotting-book !),  and  after  turning  very  pale  again  on 
hearing  that  the  Captain  had  had  a  very  bad  night ;  "  And  well 
he  might,  poor  dear !  "  said  she  (at  which  Mr.  Bendigo,  having 
no  person  to  grin  at,  grinned  at  a  marble  bust  of  Mr.  Pitt, 
which  ornamented  his  sideboard)  —  Morgiana,  I  say,  these 
prehminaries  being  concluded,  was  conducted  to  her  husband's 
apartment,  and  once  more  flinging  her  arms  round  her  dearest 
Howard's  neck,  told  him,  with  one  of  the  sweetest  smiles  in  the 
world,  to  make  haste  and  get  up  and  come  home,  for  breakfast 
was  waiting  and  the  carriage  at  the  door. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  love?  "  said  the  Captain,  starting  up 
and  looking  exceedingly  surprised. 

"  I  mean  that  my  dearest  is  free  ;  that  the  odious  Uttle  crea- 
ture is  paid  —  at  least  the  horrid  bailiff"  is." 

"Have  3'ou  been  to  Baroski?"  said  Walker,  turning  very 
red. 

"  Howard !  "  said  the  wife,  quite  indignant. 
"  Did  —  did  your  mother  give  you  the  money?"  asked  the 
Captain. 

"  No ;  I  had  it  by  me,"  replies  Mrs.  Walker,  with  a  very 
knowing  look. 


180 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Walker  was  more  surprised  than  ever.  "  Have  3'Ou  any 
more  money  by  you?  "  said  lie. 

Mrs.  Walker  showed  him  her  purse  with  tw^o  guineas ; 
''That  is  all,  love,"  she  said.  And  I  wish,"  continued  she, 
''  you  would  give  me  a  draft  to  pay  a  whole  list  of  little  bills 
that  have  somehow  all  come  in  within  the  last  few  days." 

"  Well,  w^ell,  you  shall  have  the  cheque,"  continued  Mr. 
Walker,  and  began  forthwith  to  make  his  toilet,  which  com- 
pleted, he  rung  for  Mr.  Bendigo,  and  his  bill,  and  intimated  his 
wish  to  go  home  directlj'. 

The  honored  bailiff  brought  the  bill,  but  with  regard  to  his 
being  free,  said  it  was  impossible. 

''  How  impossible?  "  said  Mrs.  Walker,  turning  very  red  and 
then  very  pale.    ''  Did  I  not  pa\'  just  now  ?  " 

''  So  you  did,  and  you've  got  the  reshipt ;  but  there's  an- 
other detainer  against  the  Captain  for  a  hundred  and  fifty. 
Eglantine  and  Mossrose,  of  Bond  Street ;  —  perfumery  for  five 
years,  you  know." 

''You  don't  mean  to  say  you  were  such  a  fool  as  to  pay 
without  asking  if  there  were  a.ny  more  detainers  ? "  roared 
Walker  to  his  wife. 

"  Yes  she  w^as  though,"  chuckled  Mr.  Bendigo  ;  "  but  she'll 
know  better  the  next  time :  and,  besides.  Captain,  wiiat's  a 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to  you  ?  " 

Though  W^alker  desired  nothing  so  much  in  the  world  at  that 
moment  as  the  liberty  to  knock  down  his  wdfe,  his  sense  of 
prudence  overcame  his  desire  for  justice  :  if  that  feeling  may  be 
called  prudence  on  his  part,  which  consisted  in  a  strong  wish  to 
cheat  the  bailiff  into  the  idea  that  he  (Walker)  was  an  exceed- 
ingly respectable  and  wealtliy  man.  Many  worth}'  persons  in- 
dulge in  this  fond  notion,  that  the}'  are  imposing  upon  tlie 
w^orld  ;  strive  to  fancy,  for  instance,  that  their  bankers  consider 
them  men  of  property  because  they  keep  a  tolerable  balance, 
pay  little  tradesmen's  bills  with  ostentatious  punctuality,  and  so 
forth,  —  but  the  world,  let  us  be  pretty  sure,  is  as  wase  as  need 
be,  and  guesses  our  real  condition  w  ith  a  marvellous  instinct,  or 
learns  it  with  curious  skill.  The  London  tradesman  is  one  of 
the  keenest  judges  of  human  nature  extant ;  and  if  a  tradesman, 
how  much  more  a  bailiff?  In  reply  to  the  ironic  question, 
"What's  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to  you?"  Walker,  col- 
lecting himself,  answers,  "It  is  an  infamous  imposition,  and  I 
owe  the  money  no  more  than  you  do  ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  shall 
instruct  my  law}  ei's  to  pay  it  in  the  course  of  the  morning : 
under  protest,  of  course." 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


181 


"Oh,  of  course/'  said  Mr.  Beridigo,  bowing  and  quitting 
the  room,  and  leaving  Mrs.  Walker  to  the  [)leasure  of  a  tete-a- 
tete  with  her  husband. 

And  now  being  alone  with  the  partner  of  his  bosom,  the 
worthy  gentleman  began  an  address  to  her  which  cannot  be  put 
down  on  paper  hei'e  ;  because  the  world  is  exceedingly  squeam- 
ish, and  does  not  care  to  hear  the  whole  truth  about  rascals, 
and  because  the  fact  is  that  almost  every  other  word  of  the 
Captain's  speech  was  a  curse,  such  as  would  shock  the  beloved 
reader  were  it  put  in  print. 

•  Fancy,  then,  in  lieu  of  the  conversation,  a  scoundrel  dis- 
appointed and  in  a  fury,  wreaking  his  brutal  revenge  upon  an 
amiable  woman,  who  sits  trembling  and  pale,  and  wondering  at 
this  sudden  exhibition  of  wrath.  P'ancy  how  he  clenches  his 
fists  and  stands  over  her,  and  stamps  and  screams  out  curses 
with  a  livid  face,  growing  wilder  and  wilder  in  his  rage  ;  wrench- 
ing her  hand  when  she  wants  to  turn  away,  and  only  stopping 
at  last  wiien  she  has  fallen  olf  the  chair  in  a  fainting  fit,  with  a 
heart-breaking  sob  that  made  the  Jew-boy  who  was  listening  at 
the  key-hole  turn  quite  pale  and  walk  away.  Well,  it  is  best, 
perhaps,  that  such  a  conversation  should  not  be  told  at  length : 

—  at  the  end  of  it,  when  Mr.  Walker  had  his  wife  lifeless  on  the 
floor,  he  seizes  a  water-jug  and  poured  it  over  her  ;  which  opera- 
tion pretty  soon  brought  her  to  herself,  and  shaking  her  black 
ringlets,  she  looked  up  once  more  again  timidly  into  his  face, 
and  took  his  hand,  and  began  to  cry. 

He  spoke  now  in  a  somewhat  softer  voice,  and  let  her  keep 
paddling  on  with  his  hand  as  before  ;  he  couldn't  speak  very 
fiercely  to  the  poor  girl  in  her  attitude  of  defeat,  and  tender- 
ness, and  supplication.  Morgiana,"  said  he,  3'our  extrava- 
gance and  carelessness  have  brought  me  to  ruin,  I'm  afraid. 
If  you'd  chosen  to  have  gone  to  Baroski,  a  word  from  3'ou  would 
have  made  him  withdraw  the  writ,  and  my  propert}-  wouldn't 
have  been  sacrificed,  as  it  has  now  been,  for  nothing.  It  mayn't 
be  yet  too  late,  however,  to  retrieve  ourselves.  This  bill  of 
Eglantine's  is  a  regular  conspirac}',  I  am  sure,  between  Moss- 
rose  and  Bendigo  here  :  yow  must  go  to  Eglantine  —  he's  an 
old —  an  old  flame  of  3'ours,  3'ou  know." 

She  dropped  his  hand  ;  "I  can't  go  to  P'glantine  after  what 
has  passed  between  us,"  she  said  ;  but  Walker's  face  instantl3' 
began  to  wear  a  certain  look,  and  she  said  with  a  shudder, 
"  Well,  well,  dear,  I  will  go."  You  will  go  to  Eglantine,  and 
ask  him  to  take  a  bill  for  the  amount  of  this  shameful  demand 

—  at  any  date,  never  mind  what.    Mind,  however,  to  see  him 


182 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


alone,  and  I'm  sure  if  you  choose  3'ou  can  settle  the  business. 
Make  haste  ;  set  off  directly,  and  come  back,  as  there  may  be 
more  detainers  in." 

Trembling,  and  in  a  great  flutter,  Morgiana  put  on  her  bon- 
net and  gloves  and  went  towards  the  door.  It's  a  fine  morn- 
ing," said  Mr.  Walker,  looking  out:  a  walk  will  do  you 
good  ;  and  —  Morgiana  —  didn't  3'ou  say  you  had  a  couple  of 
guineas  in  3'our  pocket  ?  " 

Here  it  is,"  said  she,  smiling  all  at  once,  and  holding  up 
her  face  to  be  kissed.  She  paid  the  two  guineas  for  the  kiss. 
Was  it  not  a  mean  act?  ''Is  it  possible  that  people  can 
love  where  they  do  not  respect  ?  "  sa3's  Miss  Prim  :  * '  7  never 
would."  Nobodj'  asked  you,  Miss  Prim :  but  recollect  Mor- 
giana was  not  born  with  your  advantages  of  education  and 
breeding ;  and  was,  in  fact,  a  poor  vulgar  creature,  who  loved 
Mr.  Walker,  not  because  her  mamma  told  her,  nor  because  he 
was  an  exceedingl}^  eligible  and  well-brought-up  young  man, 
but  because  she  could  not  help  it,  and  knew  no  better.  Nor  is 
Mrs.  Walker  set  up  as  a  model  of  virtue  ;  ah,  no  !  when  I  want 
a  model  of  virtue  I  will  call  in  Baker  Street,  and  ask  for  a  sit- 
ting of  my  dear  (if  I  ma}^  be  permitted  to  say  so)  Miss  Prim. 

We  have  Mr.  Howard  Walker  safely  housed  in  Mr.  Ben- 
digo's  establishment  in  Cursitor  Street,  Chancery  Lane  ;  and 
it  looks  like  mocker}'  and  want  of  feeling  towards  the  excellent 
hero  of  this  story,  (or,  as  should  rather  be  said,  towards  the 
liusband  of  the  heroine,  )  to  say  what  he  migJtt  have  been  but 
for  the  unlucky  little  circumstance  of  Baroski's  passion  for 
Morgiana. 

If  Baroski  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  Morgiana,  he  would 
not  have  given  her  two  hundred  guineas'  worth  of  lessons  ;  he 
would  not  have  so  far  presumed  as  to  seize  her  hand,  and 
attempt  to  kiss  it ;  if  he  had  not  attempted  to  kiss  her,  she 
would  not  have  boxed  his  ears  ;  he  would  not  have  taken  out 
the  writ  against  Walker ;  Walker  would  have  been  free,  very 
possibly  rich,  and  therefore  certainly  respected :  he  always 
said  that  a  month's  more  liberty  would  have  set  him  beyond  the 
reach  of  misfortune. 

The  assertion  is  ver}'  likely  a  correct  one  ;  for  Walker  had  a 
flashy,  enterprising  genius,  which  ends  in  wealth  sometimes,  in 
the  King's  Bench  not  seldom,  occasionally,  alas,  in  Van  Die- 
men's  Land  !  He  might  have  been  rich,  could  he  have  kept  his 
credit,  and  had  not  his  [)ersonal  expenses  and  extravagances 
pulled  him  down.  He  liad  gallantly  availed  himself  of  his 
wife's  fortune  ;  nor  could  any  man  in  London,  as  he  proudly 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


183 


said,  have  made  five  hundred  pounds  go  so  far.  He  had,  as 
we  have  seen,  furnished  a  iiouse,  sideboard,  and  cellar  with  it ; 
he  had  a  carriage,  and  horses  in  his  stable,  and  with  the 
remainder  he  had  purchased  shares  in  four  companies  —  of 
three  of  which  he  was  founder  and  director,  had  conducted 
innumerable  bargains  in  the  foreign  stocks,  had  lived  and 
entertained  sumptuously,  and  made  himself  a  very  considerable 
income.  He  had  set  up  The  CAPrroL  Loan  and  Life  Assur- 
ance Company,  had  discovered  the  Chimborazo  gold  mines, 
and  the  Society  for  Recovering  and  Draining  the  Pontine 
Marshes ;  capital  ten  millions ;  patron  His  Holiness  the 
Pope.  It  certainly  was  stated  in  an  evening  paper  that  His 
Holiness  had  made  him  a  Knight  of  the  Spur,  and  had  offered 
to  him  the  rank  of  Count ;  and  he  was  raising  a  loan  for  His 
Highness  the  Cacique  of  Panama,  who  has  sent  him  (by  wa}' 
of  dividend)  the  grand  cordon  of  His  Highness's  order  of  the 
Castle  and  Falcon,  which  might  be  seen  any  day  at  his  office  in 
Bond  Street,  with  the  parchments  signed  and  sealed  by  the 
Grand  Master  and  Falcon  King-at-Arms  of  his  Highness. 
In  a  week  more.  Walker  would  have  raised  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  on  his  Higiiness's  twenty  per  cent  loan ;  he 
would  have  had  fifteen  thousand  pounds  commission  for  him- 
self; his  companies  would  have  risen  to  par,  he  would  have 
realized  his  shares  ;  he  would  have  gone  into  Parliament ;  he 
would  have  been  made  a  baronet,  who  knows?  a  peer,  proba- 
bly !  And  I  appeal  to  you,  sir,"  Walker  would  sa}'  to  his 
friends,  could  an}'  man  have  shown  better  proof  of  his  af- 
fection for  his  wife,  than  by  laying  out  her  little  miserable 
money  as  I  did?  The}'  call  me  heartless,  sir,  because  I  didn't 
succeed  ;  sir,  my  life  has  been  a  series  of  sacrifices  for  that 
woman,  such  as  no  man  ever  performed  before." 

A  proof  of  Walker's  dexterity  and  capability  for  business 
may  be  seen  in  the  fact  that  he  had  actually  appeased  and 
reconciled  one  of  his  bitterest  enemies  — our  honest  friend 
Eglantine.  After  Walker's  marriage.  Eglantine,  who  had  now 
no  mercantile  dealings  with  his  former  agent,  became  so  enraged 
with  him,  that,  as  the  only  means  of  revenge  in  his  power,  he 
sent  him  in  his  bill  for  goods  supplied  to  the  amount  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  guineas,  and  sued  him  for  the  amount.  But 
Walker  stepped  boldly  over  to  his  enemy,  and  in  the  course  of 
half  an  hour  the}-  were  friends. 

Eglantine  promised  to  forego  his  claim  ;  and  accepted  in  lieu 
of  it  three  100/.  shares  of  the  ex- Panama  stock,  bearing  25  per 
cent,  payable  half-yearly  at  the  house  of  Hocus  Brothers,  St. 


184 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Swithin's  Lane  ;  three  100/.  shares,  and  the  second  class  of  the 
order  of  the  Castle  and  Falcon,  with  the  ribbon  and  badge. 
''In  four  years.  Eglantine,  my  boy,  I  hope  to  get  you  the 
Grand  Cordon  of  the  order,"  said  Walker:  ''I  hope  to  see 
you  a  Knight  Grand  Cross,  with  a  grant  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand acres  reclaimed  from  the  Isthmus." 

To  do  my  poor  Eglantine  justice,  he  did  not  care  for  the 
hundred  thousand  acres  —  it  was  the  star  that  delighted  him  : 
—  ah  !  how  his  fat  chest  heaved  with  delight  as  he  sewed  on 
the  cross  and  ribbon  to  his  dress  coat,  and  lighted  up  four  wax 
candles  and  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass.  He  was  known  to 
wear  a  great-coat  after  that  —  it  was  that  he  might  wear  the 
cross  under  it.  That  year  he  went  on  a  trip  to  Boulogne.  He 
w^as  dreadfully  ill  during  the  voyage,  but  as  the  vessel  entered 
tlie  port  he  was  seen  to  emerge  from  the  cabin,  his  coat  open, 
the  star  blazing  on  his  chest ;  the  soldiers  saluted  him  as  he 
walked  the  streets,  he  was  called  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  and 
when  he  went  home  he  entered  into  negotiations  with  Walker, 
to  purchase  a  commission  in  his  Highness's  service.  Walker 
said  he  would  get  him  the  nominal  rank  of  Captain,  the  fees  at 
the  Panama  War  Office  were  five-and-twent}'  pounds,  which 
sum  honest  Eglantine  produced,  and  had  his  commission,  and 
a  pack  of  visiting  cards  printed  as  Captain  Archibald  Eglan- 
tine, K.C.F.  Man}^  a  time  he  looked  at  them  as  they  la}'  in 
his  desk,  and  he  kept  the  cross  in  his  dressing-table,  and  wore 
it  as  he  shaved  every  morning. 

His  Highness  the  Cacique,  it  is  well  known,  came  to  Eng- 
land, and  had  lodgings  in  Regent  Street,  where  he  held  a  levee, 
at  which  Eglantine  appeared  in  the  Panama  uniform,  and  was 
most  graciously  received  by  his  Sovereign.  His  Highness  pro- 
posed to  make  Captain  Eglantine  his  aide-de-camp  with  the 
rank  of  Colonel,  but  the  Captain's  exchequer  was  rather  low  at 
that  moment,  and  the  fees  at  the  War  Office"  were  peremp- 
tor}'.  Meanwhile  his  Highness  left  Regent  Street,  was  said  by 
some  to  have  returned  to  Panama,  by  others  to  be  in  his  native 
city  of  Cork,  b}'  others  to  be  leading  a  life  of  retirement  in  the 
New  Cut,  Lambeth  ;  at  any  rate  was  not  visible  for  some  time, 
so  that  Captain  Eglantine's  advancement  did  not  take  place. 
Eglantine  was  somehow  ashamed  to  mention  his  military  and 
chivalric  rank  to  Mr.  Mossrose,  when  that  gentleman  came  into 
partnership  witii  him  ;  and  left  these  facts  secret,  until  they 
were  detected  b}'  a  very  painful  circumstance.  On  the  very 
day  when  Walker  was  arrested  at  the  suit  of  Benjamin  Baroski, 
there  appeared  in  the  newspapers  an  account  of  the  imprison- 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


185 


ment  of  his  Highness  the  Prince  of  Panama,  for  a  bill  owing  to 
a  licensed  victualler  in  Ratcliff  IIighwa3\  The  magistrate  to 
whom  the  victualler  subsequently  came  to  complain,  passed 
man}^  pleasantries  on  the  occasion.  He  asked  whether  his 
Highness  did  not  drink  like  a  swan  with  two  necks  ;  whether 
he  had  brought  any  Belles  savages  with  him  from  Panama,  and 
so  forth  ;  and  the  whole  court,  said  the  report,  "  was  con- 
vulsed with  laughter,  when  Boniface  produced  a  green  and 
3'ellow  ribbon  with  a  large  star  of  the  order  of  the  Castle  and 
Falcon,  with  which  his  Highness  proposed  to  gratify  him,  in 
lieu  of  paying  his  little  bill." 

It  was  as  he  was  reading  the  above  document  with  a  bleeding 
heart  that  Mr.  Mossrose  came  in  from  his  dailj^  walk  to  the  Cit}'. 
"  Veil,  Eglantine,"  says  he,     have  you  heard  the  newsh?  " 
About  his  Highness  ?  " 

"  About  your  friend  Valker  ;  he's  arrested  for  two  hundred 
poundsh ! " 

Eglantine  at  this  could  contain  no  more  ;  but  told  his  story 
of  how  he  had  been  induced  to  accept  300/.  of  Panama  stock 
for  his  account  against  Walker,  and  cursed  his  stars  for  his 
folly. 

"  Yell,  you've  only  to  bring  in  another  bill,"  said  the  younger 
perfumer ;  swear  he  owes  3^ou  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
and  we'll  have  a  writ  out  against  him  this  afternoon." 

And  so  a  second  writ  was  taken  out  against  Captain 
Walker. 

"You'll  have  his  wife  here  very  likely  in  a  day  or  two," 
said  Mr.  Mossrose  to  his  partner;  "them  chaps  always  sends 
their  wives,  and  I  hope  you  know  how  to  deal  with  her." 

"  I  don't  value  her  a  fig's  hend,"  said  Eglantine.  "  Til  treat 
her  like  the  dust  of  the  hearth.  After  that  woman's  conduct  to 
me,  I  should  like  to  see  her  have  the  haudacit}'  to  come  here  ; 
and  if  she  does,  you'll  see  how  I'll  serve  her." 

The  worth}^  perfumer,  was,  in  fact,  resolved  to  be  exceed- 
ingly hard-hearted  in  his  behavior  towards  his  old  love,  and 
acted  over  at  night  in  bed  the  scene  which  was  to  occur  when  the 
meeting  should  take  place.  Oh,  thought  he,  but  it  will  be  a 
grand  thing  to  see  the  proud  Morgiana  on  her  knees  to  me  ; 
and  me  a  pointing  to  the  door;  and  saying,  "Madam,  you've 
steeled  this  'eart  against  you,  you  have  ;  —  bur}'  the  recollection 
of  old  times,  of  those  old  times  when  I  thought  my  'eart  would 
have  broke,  but  it  didn't  —  no,  'earts  are  made  of  sterner  stufl\ 
I  didn't  die  as  I  thought  I  should  ;  I  stood  it,  and  live  to  see 
the  woman  I  despised  at  ni}'  feet  —  ha,  ha,  at  m}'  feet !  " 


186 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts  Mr.  Eglantine  fell  asleep  ;  but 
it  was  evident  that  the  idea  of  seeing  Morgiana  once  more, 
agitated  him  considerably,  else  why  should  he  have  been  at  the 
pains  of  preparing  so  much  heroism  ?  His  sleep  was  exceedingly 
fitful  and  troubled  ;  he  saw  Morgiana  in  a  hundred  shapes  ;  he 
dreamed  that  he  was  dressing  her  hair ;  that  he  was  riding 
with  her  to  Richmond  ;  that  the  horse  turned  into  a  dragon,  and 
Morgiana  into  Woolse}',  who  took  him  by  the  throat  and  choked 
him,  while  the  dragon  played  the  ke3'-bugle.  And  in  the 
morning  when  Mossrose  was  gone  to  his  business  in  the  City, 
and  he  sat  reading  the  Morning  Post  in  his  study,  ah !  what  a 
thump  his  heart  gave  as  the  lady  of  his  dreams  actually  stood 
before  him ! 

Many  a  lad}^  who  purchased  brushes  at  Eglantine's  shop, 
would  have  given  ten  guineas  for  such  a  color  as  his  when  he 
saw  her.  His  heart  beat  violently,  he  was  almost  choking  in 
his  sta3's :  he  had  been  prepared  for  the  visit,  but  his  courage 
failed  him  now  it  had  come.  They  were  both  silent  for  some 
minutes. 

You  know  what  I  am  come  for,"  at  last  said  Morgiana 
from  under  her  veil,  but  she  put  it  aside  as  she  spoke. 

"I  —  that  is  —  yes  —  it's  a  painful  affair,  mem,"  he  said, 
giving  one  look  at  her  pale  face,  and  then  turning  away  in  a 
flurr3^  I  beg  to  refer  to  jou  Blunt,  Hone,  and  Sharpus,  my 
lawyers,  mem,"  he  added,  collecting  himself. 

''I  didn't  expect  this  from  ^ow,  Mr.  Eglantine,"  said  the 
lady,  and  began  to  sob. 

"  And  after  what's  'appened,  I  didn't  expect  a  visit  from 
you^  mem.  I  thought  Mrs.  Capting  Walker  was  too  great  a 
dame  to  visit  poor  Harchibald  Eglantine  (though  some  of  the 
first  men  in  the  country  do  visit  him) .  Is  there  anything  in 
which  I  can  oblige  you,  mem  ?  " 

''O  heavens!"  cried  the  poor  woman;  "have  I  no  friend 
left?  I  never  thought  that  you,  too,  would  have  deserted  me, 
Mr.  Archibald." 

The  Archibald,"  pronounced  in  the  old  way,  had  evidently 
an  effect  on  the  perfumer ;  he  winced  and  looked  at  her  very 
eagerly  for  a  moment.  What  can  I  do  for  you,  mem?"  at 
last  said  he. 

What  is  this  bill  against  Mr.  Walker,  for  which  he  is  now 
in  prison  ?  " 

Perfumery  supplied  for  five  years;  that  man  used  more 
'air-brushes  than  any  duke  in  the  land,  and  as  for  Eau  de  Co- 
logne, he  must  have  bathed  himself  in  it.  He  bordered  me  about 


THE  RAVENS  WING. 


187 


like  a  lord.  He  never  paid  me  one  shilling,  —  he  stabbed  me 
in  my  most  vital  part  —  but,  ah  !  ah  !  never  mind  that :  and  I 
said  I  would  be  revenged,  and  I  am,'' 

The  perfumer  was  quite  in  a  rage  again  by  this  time,  and 
wiped  his  fat  face  with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  glared  upon 
Mrs.  Walker  with  a  most  determined  air. 

^'Revenged  on  whom?  Archibald  —  Mr.  Eglantine,  re- 
venged on  me  —  on  a  poor  woman  whom  you  made  miserable  ! 
You  would  not  have  done  so  once." 

"  Ha!  and  a  precious  wa}^  you  treated  me  once''  said  Eg- 
lantine: ''don't  talk  to  me,  mem,  of  once.  Bury  the  recol- 
lection of  once  for  hever  !  I  thought  my  'eart  would  have  broke 
once,  but  no  ;  'earts  are  made  of  sterner  stuff.  I  didn't  die  as 
I  thought  I  should ;  I  stood  it  —  and  I  live  to  see  the  woman 
who  despised  me  at  m}^  feet." 

Oh,  Archibald  !  "  was  all  the  lady  could  say,  and  she  fell 
to  sobbing  again :  it  was  perhaps  her  best  argument  with  the 
perfumer. 

''Oh,  Harchibald,  indeed!"  continued  he,  beginning  to 
swell;  "don't  call  me  Harchibald,  Morgiana.  Think  what  a 
position  3^ou  might  have  held,  if  3^ou'd  chose:  when,  when  — 
you  might  have  called  me  Harchibald.  Now  it's  no  use,"  added 
he,  with  harrowing  pathos;  "but  though  I've  been  wronged, 
I  can't  bear  to  see  women  in  tears  —  tell  me  what  I  can  do  ?  " 

"  Dear,  good  Mr.  Eglantine,  send  to  3'our  lawj^ers  and  stop 
this  horrid  prosecution  —  take  Mr.  Walker's  acknowledgment 
for  the  debt.  If  he  is  free,  he  is  sure  to  have  a  very  large  sum 
of  money  in  a  few  days,  and  will  pa}^  3^ou  all.  Do  not  ruin 
him  —  do  not  ruin  me  by  persisting  now.  Be  the  old  kind 
Eglantine  you  were." 

Eglantine  took  a  hand,  which  Morgiana  did  not  refuse;  he 
thought  about  old  times.  He  had  known  her  since  childhood 
almost ;  as  a  girl  he  dandled  her  on  his  knee  at  the  ' '  Kidneys  ;  " 
as  a  woman  he  had  adored  her,  —  his  heart  was  melted. 

"  He  did  pay  me  in  a  sort  of  wa}^"  reasoned  the  perfumer 
with  himself  —  "  these  bonds,  though  they  are  not  worth  much, 
I  took  'em  for  better  or  for  worse,  and  I  can't  bear  to  see  her 
cr3dng,  and  to  trample  on  a  woman  in  distress.  Morgiana,"  he 
added,  in  a  loud  cheerful  voice,  "cheer  up;  I'll  give  you  a 
release  for  your  husband :  I  will  be  the  old  kind  Eglantine 
I  was." 

"  Be  the  old  kind  jackass  3^ou  vash ! "  here  roared  a  voice 
that  made  Mr.  Eglantine  start.  "  V^^  vat  an  old  fat  fool  you 
are,  Eglantine,  to  give  up  our  just  debts  because  a  voman  comes 


188 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


snivelling  and  crying  to  you  —  and  such  a  voman,  too ! "  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Mossrose,  for  his  was  the  voice. 

"  Such  a  woman,  sir?"  cried  the  senior  partner. 

"Yes;  such  a  woman  —  yy  didn't  she  jilt  you  herself?  — 
hasn't  she  been  tr3ing  the  same  game  with  Baroski ;  and  are 
3'ou  so  green  as  to  give  up  a  hundred  and  fift}'  pounds  because 
she  takes  a  fancy  to  come  vimpering  here  ?  I  won't,  I  can  tell 
3'Ou.  The  money's  as  much  mine  as  it  is  yours,  and  I'll  have 
it,  or  keep  Walker's  bodjs  that's  what  I  will." 

At  the  presence  of  his  partner,  the  timid  good  genius  of 
Eglantine,  which  had  prompted  him  to  mercy  and  kindness,  at 
once  outspread  its  frightened  wings  and  flew  away. 

"  You  see  how  it  is,  Mrs.  W."  said  he,  looking  down  ;  "  it's 
an  affair  of  business  —  in  all  these  here  affairs  of  business  Mr. 
Mossrose  is  the  managing  man  ;  ain't  you,  Mr.  Mossrose?" 

"  A  pretty  business  it  would  be  if  I  wasn't,"  replied  Moss- 
rose  doggedly.  "  Come,  ma'am,"  says  he,  I'll  tell  you  vat  I 
do :  I  take  fifty  per  shent ;  not  a  farthing  less  —  give  me  that, 
and  out  3^our  husband  goes." 

"  Oh,  sir,  Howard  will  pay  3^ou  in  a  week." 

"  Well,  den  let  him  stop  at  my  uncle  Bendigo's  for  a  week, 
and  come  out  den  —  he's  very  comfortable  there,"  said  Shylock 
with  a  grin.  Hadn't  you  better  go  to  the  shop,  Mr.  Eglan- 
tine," continued  he,  "and  look  after  your  business?  Mrs. 
Walker  can't  want  you  to  listen  to  her  all  dsiy/' 

Eglantine  was  glad  of  the  excuse,  and  slunk  out  of  the 
studio  ;  not  into  the  shop  but  into  his  parlor ;  where  he  drank 
off  a  great  glass  of  Maraschino,  and  sat  blushing  and  exceed- 
ingl}^  agitated,  until  Mossrose  came  to  tell  him  that  Mrs.  W. 
was  gone,  and  wouldn't  trouble  him  an}^  more.  But  although 
he  drank  several  more  glasses  of  Maraschino,  and  went  to  the 
play  that  night,  and  to  the  cider-cellars  afterwards,  neither  the 
liquor,  nor  the  play,  nor  the  delightful  comic  songs  at  the  cel- 
lars, could  drive  Mrs.  Walker  out  of  his  head,  and  the  memor}^ 
of  old  times,  and  the  image  of  her  pale  weeping  face. 

Moi'giana  tottered  out  of  the  shop,  scarcely  heeding  the 
voice  of  Mr.  Mossrose,  who  said,  "I'll  take  fort}^  per  shent" 
(and  went  back  to  his  duty  cursing  himself  for  a  soft-hearted 
fool  for  giving  up  so  much  of  his  rights  to  a  puling  woman). 
Morgiana,  I  say,  tottered  out  of  the  shop,  and  went  up  Conduit 
Street,  weeping,  weeping  with  all  her  eyes.  She  was  quite 
faint,  for  she  had  taken  nothing  that  morning  but  the  glass  of 
water  which  the  pa.stry-(;ook  in  the  Stiand  had  given  her,  and 
was  forced  to  take  hold  of  the  railings  of  a  house  for  support. 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


189 


just  as  a  little  gentleman  with  a  yellow  handkerchief  under  his 
arm  was  issuing  from  the  door. 

*'Good  heavens,  Mrs.  Walker!"  said  the  gentleman.  It 
was  no  other  than  Mr.  Woolsey,  who  was  going  forth  to  tr}^ 
a  body-coat  for  a  customer;  are  3^ou  ill?  —  what's  the  mat- 
ter? for  God's  sake  come  in  !  "  and  he  took  her  arm  under  his, 
and  led  her  into  his  back  parlor,  and  seated  her,  and  had  some 
wine  and  water  before  her  in  one  minute,  before  she  had  said 
one  single  word  regarding  herself. 

As  soon  as  she  was  somewhat  recovered,  and  with  the 
interruption  of  a  thousand  sobs,  the  poor  thing  told  as  well 
as  she  could  her  little  stor}- .  Mr.  Eglantine  had  arrested  Mr. 
Walker :  she  had  been  trying  to  gain  time  for  him  ;  Eglantine 
had  refused. 

"  The  hard-hearted,  cowardly  brute  to  refuse  her  anything  !  " 
said  loyal  Mr.  Woolsey.  My  dear,"  said  he,  I've  no  reason 
to  love  3^our  husband,  and  I  know  too  much  about  him  to  re- 
spect him  ;  but  I  love  and  respect  you^  and  will  spend  my  last 
shilling  to  serve  you."  At  which  Morgiana  could  only  take  his 
hand  and  crj^  a  great  deal  more  than  ever.  She  said  Mr. 
Walker  would  have  a  great  deal  of  money  in  a  week,  that  he 
was  the  best  of  husbands,  and  she  was  sure  Mr.  Woolsey  w^ould 
think  better  of  him  when  he  knew  him  ;  that  Mr.  Eglantine's 
bill  was  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  but  that  Mr.  Mossrose 
would  take  forty  per  cent,  if  Mr.  Woolsey  could  say  how  much 
that  was. 

"  I'll  pay  a  thousand  pound  to  do  j^ou  good,"  said  Mr.  Wool- 
sey, bouncing  up;  ''sta}'  here  for  ten  minutes,  ni}^  dear,  until 
my  return,  and  all  shall  be  right,  as  you  will  see."  He  was 
back  in  ten  minutes,  and  had  called  a  cab  from  the  stand  op- 
posite (all  the  coachmen  there  had  seen  and  commented  on 
Mrs.  Walker's  woe-begone  looks),  and  they  were  off  for  Cur- 
sitor  Street  in  a  moment.  ''They'll  settle  the  whole  debt  for 
twenty  pounds,"  said  he,  and  showed  an  order  to  that  effect 
from  Mr.  Mossrose  to  Mr.  Bendigo,  empowering  the  latter  to 
release  Walker  on  receiving  Mr.  Woolsey's  acknowledgment  for 
the  abov^e  sum. 

"There's  no  use  pacing  it,"  said  Mr.  Walker,  doggedly, 
"it  would  only  be  robbing  you,  Mr.  Woolsey,  —  seven  more 
detainers  have  come  in  while  my  wife  has  been  away.  I  must 
go  through  the  court  now  ;  but "  he  added  in  a  whisper  to  the 
tailor,  "  my  good  sir,  my  debts  oi  honor  are  sacred,  and  if  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  lend  me  the  twenty  pounds,  I  pledge 


190 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


you  my  word  as  a  gentleman  to  return  it  when  I  come  out  of 
quod." 

It  is  probable  that  Mr.  Woolsey  declined  this,  for  as  soon 
as  he  was  gone,  Walker,  in  a  tremendous  fur}^,  began  cursing 
his  wife  for  dawdling  three  hours  on  the  road.  ''Why  the 
deuce,  ma'am,  didn't  you  take  a  cab?"  roared  he,  when  he 
heard  she  had  walked  to  Bond  Street.  "  Those  writs  have 
only  been  in  half  an  hour,  and  I  might  have  been  off  but  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  Howard,"  said  she,  "  didn't  you  take  —  didn't  I  give 
you  my  —  my  last  shilling?"  and  fell  back  and  wept  again  more 
bitterly  than  ever. 

Well,  love,"  said  her  amiable  husband,  turning  rather  red, 
"  never  mind,  it  wasn't  your  fault.  It  is  but  going  through  the 
court.    It's  no  gr^^at  odda,    I  forgive  you." 


CHAPTER  YL 

IN   WHICH   MR.   WALKER   STILL    REMAINS    IN    DIFFICULTIES,  BUT 
SHOWS  GREAT  RESIGNATION  UNDER  HIS  MISFORTUNES. 

The  exemplary  Walker,  seeing  that  escape  from  his  enemies 
was  hopeless,  and  that  it  was  his  duty  as  a  man  to  turn  on  them 
and  face  them,  now  determmed  to  quit  the  splendid  though 
narrow  lodgings  which  Mr.  Bendigo  had  provided  for  him,  and 
undergo  the  martyrdom  of  the  Fleet.  Accordingly^,  in  company^ 
with  that  gentleman,  he  came  over  to  her  Majesty's  prison,  and 
gave  himself  into  the  custody  of  the  officers  there  ;  and  did  not 
appl}^  for  the  accommodation  of  the  rules  (b}'  which  in  those 
days  the  captivity  of  some  debtors  was  considerably  lightened), 
because  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  there  was  no  person  in  the 
wide  world  who  would  give  a  securit}'  for  the  heav}^  sums  for 
which  Walker  was  answerable.  What  these  sums  were  is  no 
matter,  and  on  this  head  we  do  not  think  it  at  all  necessar}^  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  reader.  He  may  have  owed  hun- 
dreds—  thousands,  his  creditors  only  can  tell;  he  paid  the 
dividend  which  has  been  formerly  mentioned,  and  showed 
thereby  his  desire  to  satisfy  all  claims  upon  him  to  the  utter- 
most farthing. 

As  for  the  little  house  in  Connaught  Square,  when,  after 
quitting  her  husband,  Morgiana  drove  back  thither,  the  door 


THE  RAVEN8WING. 


191 


was  opened  b}-  the  page,  who  instantly  thanked  her  to  pa}-  his 
wages  ;  and  in  the  drawing-room,  on  a  yellow  satin  sofa,  sat 
a  seedy  man  (with  a  pot  of  porter  beside  him  placed  on  an 
album  for  fear  of  staining  the  rosewood  table),  and  the  seed}' 
man  signified  that  he  had  taken  possession  of  the  furniture 
in  execution  for  a  judgment  debt.  Another  seed}'  man  was  in 
the  dining-room,  reading  a  newspaper  and  drinking  gin  ;  he 
informed  Mrs.  Walker  that  he  was  the  representative  of  another 
judgment  debt  and  of  another  execution:  —  There's  another 
on  'em  in  the  kitchen,"  said  the  page,  taking  an  inwentory 
of  the  furniture  ;  and  he  swears  he'll  have  you  took  up  for 
swindling,  for  pawning  the  plate." 

''Sir,"  said  Mr.  Woolsey,  for  that  worthy  man  had  con- 
ducted Morgiana  home  —  ''sir,"  said  he,  shaking  his  stick  at 
the  young  page,  "  if  you  give  any  more  of  your  impudence  I'll 
beat  every  button  off  your  jacket :  "  and  as  there  were  some 
four  hundred  of  these  ornaments,  the  page  was  silent.  It  was 
a  great  mercy  for  Morgiana  that  the  honest  and  faithful  tailor 
had  accompanied  her.  The  good  fellow  had  waited  very 
patiently  for  her  for  an  hour  in  the  parlor  or  coffee-room  of 
the  lock-up  house,  knowing  full  well  that  she  would  want  a 
protector  on  her  way  homewards  ;  and  his  kindness  will  be 
more  appreciated  when  it  is  stated  that,  during  the  time  of  his 
dela}'  in  the  coffee-room,  he  had  been  subject  to  the  entreaties, 
nay,  to  the  insults  of  Cornet  Fipkin  of  the  Blues,  who  was  in 
prison  at  the  suit  of  Linsey,  Woolsey,  and  Co.,  and  who  hap- 
pened to  be  taking  his  breakfast  in  the  apartment  when  his 
obdurate  creditor  entered  it.  The  cornet  (a  hero  of  eighteen, 
who  stood  at  least  five  feet  three  in  his  boots,  and  owed  fifteen 
thousand  pounds)  was  so  enraged  at  the  obduracy  of  his  cred- 
itor that  he  said  he  would  have  thrown  him  out  of  the  window 
but  for  the  bars  which  guarded  it ;  and  entertained  serious 
thoughts  of  knocking  the  tailor's  head  oflT,  but  that  the  latter, 
putting  his  right  leg  forward  and  his  fists  in  a  proper  attitude, 
told  the  young  officer  to  "come  on;"  on  which  the  cornet 
cursed  the  tailor  for  a  "  snob,"  and  went  back  to  his  breakfast. 

The  execution  people  having  taken  charge  of  Mr.  Walker's 
house,  Mrs.  Walker  was  driven  to  take  refuge  with  her  mamma 
near  "Sadler's  Wells,"  and  the  Captain  remained  comfortably 
lodged  in  the  Fleet.  lie  had  some  read}'  money,  and  with  it 
managed  to  make  his  existence  exceedingly  comfortable.  He 
lived  with  the  best  society  of  the  place,  consisting  of  several 
distinguished  young  noblemen  and  gentlemen.  He  spent  the 
morning  playing  at  fives  and  smoking  cigars  ;  the  evening 


192 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


smoking  cigars  and  dining  comfortably.  Cards  came  after 
dinner ;  and,  as  the  Captain  was  an  experienced  player,  and 
near  a  score  of  years  older  than  most  of  his  friends,  he  was 
generally  pretty  successful :  indeed  if  he  had  received  all  the 
mone}'  that  was  owed  to  him,  he  might  have  come  out  of  prison 
and  paid  his  creditors  twenty  shillings  in  the  pound  —  that  is, 
if  he  had  been  minded  to  do  so.  But  there  is  no  use  in  ex- 
amining into  that  point  too  closely,  for  the  fact  is,  young  Fip- 
kin  onl}'  paid  him  forty  pounds  out  of  seven  hundred,  for  which 
he  gave  him  I.  O.  U.'s  ;  Algernon  Deuceace  not  only  did  not 
pay  him  three  hundred  and  twenty  which  he  lost  at  blind 
hookc}',  but  actually  borrowed  seven  and  sixpence  in  mone}' 
from  Walker,  which  has  never  been  repaid  to  this  day ;  and 
Lord  Doublequits  actually  lost  nineteen  thousand  pounds  to 
him  at  heads  and  tails,  which  he  never  paid,  pleading  drunken- 
ness and  his  minority.  The  reader  ma}'  recollect  a  paragraph 
which  went  the  round  of  the  papers  entitled,  Affair  of  Honor 
in  the  Fleet  Prison,  — Yesterday  morning  (behind  the  pump  in 
the  second  court)  Lord  D-bl-qu-ts  and  Captain  H-w-rd  W-lk-r 
(a  near  relative,  we  understand,  of  His  Grace  the  Duke  of 
N-rf-lk)  had  a  hostile  meeting  and  exchanged  two  shots. 
These  two  young  sprigs  of  nobility  were  attended  to  the  ground 
by  Major  Flush,  who,  by  the  way,  is  flush  no  longer,  and 

Captain  Pam,  late  of  the  Dragoons.    Play  is  said  to  have 

been  the  cause  of  the  quarrel,  and  the  gallant  Captain  is  re- 
ported to  have  handled  the  noble  lord's  nose  rather  roughly 
at  one  stage  of  the  transactions."  When  Morgiana  at  Sad- 
ler's Wells"  heard  these  news,  she  was  ready  to  faint  with 
terror;  and  rushed  to  the  Fleet  Prison,  and  embraced  her 
lord  and  master  with  her  usual  expansion  and  fits  of  tears : 
ver}^  much  to  that  gentleman's  annoyance,  who  happened  to 
be  in  company  with  Pam  and  Flush  at  the  time,  and  did  not 
care  that  his  handsome  wife  should  be  seen  too  much  in  the 
dubious  precincts  of  the  Fleet.  He  had  at  least  so  much  shame 
about  him,  and  had  always  rejected  her  entreaties  to  be  allowed 
to  inhabit  the  prison  with  him. 

It  is  enough,"  would  he  sa}',  casting  his  ej^es  heavenward, 
and  with  a  most  lugubrious  countenance  —  it  is  enough,  Mor- 
giana, that  /  should  suffer,  even  though  your  thoughtlessness 
has  been  the  cause  of  my  ruin.  P)Ut  enough  of  that!  I  will 
not  rebuke  you  for  faults  for  which  I  know  3'ou  are  now  re- 
pentant ;  and  I  never  could  bear  to  see  you  in  the  midst  of  the 
miseries  of  this  horrible  place.  Remain  at  home  with  your 
mother,  and  let  me  drag  on  the  weary  days  here  alone.    If  3  0U 


THE  RAVITNSWING. 


193 


can  get  me  any  more  of  that  pale  sherry,  my  love,  do.  I 
require  something  to  cheer  me  in  solitude,  and  have  found  my 
chest  very  much  relieved  by  that  wine.  Put  more  pepper  and 
eggs,  my  dear,  into  the  next  veal-pie  you  make  me.  I  can't 
eat  the  horrible  messes  in  the  coffee-room  here." 

It  was  Walker's  wish,  I  can't  tell  why,  except  that  it  is 
the  wish  of  a  great  number  of  other  persons  in  this  strange 
world,  to  make  his  wife  believe  that  he  was  wretched  in  mhid 
and  ill  in  health ;  and  all  assertions  to  this  effect  the  simple 
creature  received  with  numberless  tears  of  credulit}' :  she  w^ould 
go  home  to  Mrs.  Crump,  and  say  how  her  darling  Howard  was 
pining  away,  how  he  was  ruined  for  //er,  and  with  what  angelic 
sweetness  he  bore  his  captivit3\  The  fact  is,  he  bore  it  with 
so  much  resignation  that  no  other  person  in  the  world  could 
see  that  he  was  unhapp3\  His  life  was  undisturbed  by  duns  ; 
his  day  was  his  own  from  morning  till  night ;  his  diet  was 
good,  his  acquaintances  jovial,  his  purse  tolerably  well  sup- 
plied, and  he  had  not  one  single  care  to  annoy  him. 

Mrs.  Crump  and  Woolsey,  perhaps,  received  Morgiana's 
account  of  her  husband's  miseries  with  some  incredulity.  The 
latter  was  now  a  daily  visitor  to  Sadler's  Wells."  His  love 
for  Morgiana  had  become  a  w^arm,  fatherl}-,  generous  regard 
for  her ;  it  was  out  of  the  honest  fellow's  cellar  that  the  wine 
used  to  come  which  did  so  much  good  to  Mr.  Walker's  chest ; 
and  he  tried  a  thousand  w^a3^s  to  make  Morgiana  happ3\ 

A  ver}^  happy  day,  indeed,  it  was  when,  returning  from  her 
visit  to  the  Fleet,  she  found  in  her  mother's  sitting-room  her 
dear  grand  rosewood  piano,  and  every  one  of  her  music-books, 
which  the  kind-hearted  tailor  had  purchased  at  the  sale  of 
Walker's  effects.  And  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  Morgi- 
ana herself  was  so  charmed,  that  when,  as  usual,  Mr.  Woolse}^ 
came  to  drink  tea  in  the  evening,  she  actually  gave  him  a  kiss  ; 
which  frightened  Mr.  Woolsey,  and  made  him  blush  exceed- 
ingly. She  sat  down,  and  played  him  that  evening  ever}^  one 
of  the  songs  which  he  liked  —  the  old  songs  —  none  of  your 
Italian  stuff.  Podmore,  the  old  music-master,  was  there  too, 
and  was  delighted  and  astonished  at  the  progress  in  singing 
which  Morgiana  had  made  ;  and  when  the  little  party  sepa- 
rated, he  took  Mr.  Woolsey  by  the  hand,  and  said,  Give  me 
leave  to  tell  3'ou,  sir,  that  you'i-o  a  trump.''' 

''That  he  is,"  said  Canterfield,  the  first  tragic  ;  an  honor 
to  human  nature.  A  man  wdiose  hand  is  open  as  day  to  melt- 
ing charity,  and  whose  heart  ever  melts  at  the  tale  of  woman's 
distress." 

13 


194 


ME^^'S  WIVES. 


"  Pooh,  pooh,  stuff  and  nonsense,  sir,"  said  the  tailor;  but, 
upon  my  word,  Mr.  Canterfield's  words  were  perfect!}^  correct. 
I  wish  as  much  could  be  said  in  favor  of  Woolsey's  old  rival, 
Mr.  Eglantine,  who  attended  the  sale  too,  but  it  was  with  a 
horrid  kind  of  satisfaction  at  the  thought  that  Walker  was 
ruined.  He  bought  the  ^^ellow  satin  sofa  before  mentioned, 
and  transferred  it  to  what  he  calls  his  "  sitting-room,"  where 
it  is  to  this  da}',  bearing  many  marks  of  the  best  bears'-grease. 
Woolse}'  bid  against  Baroski  for  the  piano,  very  nearly  up  to 
the  actual  value  of  the  instrument,  when  the  artist  withdrew 
from  competition  ;  and  when  he  was  sneering  at  the  ruin  of 
Mr.  Walker,  the  tailor  sternly  interrupted  him  by  saying, 
"  What  the  deuce  are  you  sneering  at?  You  did  it,  sir;  and 
you're  paid  ever}'  shilHng  of  3^our  claim,  ain't  you?"  On  which 
Baroski  turned  round  to  Miss  Larkins,  and  said,  "Mr.  Wool- 
se}^  was  a  '  snop  ; ' "  the  very  words,  though  pronounced  some- 
what differentl}',  which  the  gallant  Cornet  Fipkin  had  applied 
to  him. 

Well ;  so  he  was  a  snob.  But,  vulgar  as  he  was,  I  declare, 
for  my  part,  that  I  have  a  greater  respect  for  Mr.  Woolsey  than 
for  any  single  nobleman  or  gentleman  mentioned  in  this  true 
histor3^ 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  names  of  Messrs.  Canterfield  and 
Podmore  that  Morgiana  was  again  in  the  midst  of  the  widow 
Crump's  favorite  theatrical  society ;  and  this,  indeed,  was  the 
case.  The  widow's  little  room  was  hung  round  with  the  pic- 
tures which  were  mentioned  at  the  commencement  of  the  story 
as  decorating  the  bar  of  the  Bootjack  ;  "  and  several  times  in 
a  week  she  received  her  friends  from  the  "  Wells,"  and  enter- 
tained them  with  such  humble  refreshments  of  tea  and  crumpets 
as  her  modest  means  permitted  her  to  purchase.  Among  these 
persons  Morgiana  lived  and  sung  quite  as  contentedl}'  as  she 
had  ever  done  among  the  demireps  of  her  husband's  society  ; 
and,  only  she  did  not  dare  to  own  it  to  herself,  was  a  great  deal 
happier  than  she  had  been  for  man}'  a  cVdj,  Mrs.  Captain 
Walker  was  still  a  great  lad}'  amongst  them.  Even  in  his  ruin. 
Walker,  the  director  of  three  companies,  and  the  owner  of  the 
splendid  ponj'-chaise,  was  to  these  simple  persons  an  awful 
character ;  and  when  mentioned,  they  talked  with  a  great  deal 
of  gravity  of  his  being  in  the  country,  and  hoped  Mrs.  Captain 
W.  had  good  news  of  him.  They  all  knew  he  was  in  the  Fleet ; 
but  had  he  not  in  prison  fought  a  duel  with  a  viscount?  Mont- 
morency (of  the  Norfolk  circuit)  was  in  the  Fleet  too  ;  and 
when  Canterfield  went  to  see  poor  Montey,  the  latter  had 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


195 


pointed  out  Walker  to  his  friend,  who  actually  hit  Lord  George 
Tennison  across  the  shoulders  in  play  with  a  racket-bat ;  which 
event  was  soon  made  known  to  the  whole  green-room. 

They  had  me  up  one  day,"  said  Montmorency,  "  to  sing  a 
comic  song,  and  give  my  recitations  ;  and  we  had  champagne 
and  h)bster-salad  :  such  nobs  !"  added  the  player.  Billings- 
gate and  Vauxhall  were  there  too,  and  left  college  at  eight 
o'clock." 

When  Morgiana  was  told  of  the  circumstance  by  her  mother, 
she  hoped  her  dear  Howard  had  enjoyed  the  evening,  and  was 
thankful  that  for  once  he  could  forget  his  sorrows.  Nor,  some- 
how, was  she  ashamed  of  herself  for  being  happy  afterwads,  but 
gave  way  to  her  natural  good  humor  without  repentance  or  self- 
rebuke.  I  believe,  indeed,  (alas  !  why  are  we  made  acquainted 
with  the  same  fact  regarding  ourselves  long  after  it  is  past  and 
gone  ?)  —  I  believe  these  were  the  happiest  da3^s  of  Morgiana's 
whole  life.  She  had  no  cares  except  the  pleasant  one  of  attend- 
ing on  her  husband,  an  eas}',  smiling  temperament  which  made 
her  regardless  of  to-morrow  ;  and,  add  to  this,  a  delightful  hope 
relative  to  a  certain  interesting  event  which  was  about  to  occur, 
and  which  I  shall  not  particularize  further  than  by  saying,  that 
she  was  cautioned  against  too  much  singing  by  Mr.  Squills,  her 
medical  attendant ;  and  that  widow  Crump  w^as  busy  making 
up  a  vast  number  of  little  caps  and  diminutive  cambric  shirts, 
such  as  delighted  grandmothers  are  in  the  habit  of  fashioning. 
I  hope  this  is  as  genteel  a  way  of  signifying  the  circumstance 
which  was  about  to  take  place  in  the  Walker  family  as  Miss 
Prim  herself  could  desire.  Mrs.  Walker's  mother  was  about 
to  become  a  grandmother.  There's  a  phrase  !  The  Morning 
Post^  which  says  this  story  is  vulgar,  I'm  sure  cannot  quarrel 
with  that,  I  don't  believe  the  whole  Court  Guide  would  convey 
an  intimation  more  delicately. 

Well,  Mrs.  Crump's  little  grandchild  was  born,  entirely  to 
the  dissatisfaction,  I  must  say,  of  his  father ;  who,  when  the 
infant  was  brought  to  him  in  the  Fleet,  had  him  abruptly  covered 
up  in  his  cloak  again,  from  which  he  had  been  removed  by  the 
jealous  prison  door-keepers  ;  why,  do  you  think?  Walker  had 
a  quarrel  with  one  of  them,  and  the  wretch  persisted  in  believing 
that  the  bundle  Mrs.  Crump  was  bringing  to  her  son-in-law  was 
a  bundle  of  disguised  brandy  ! 

''The  brutes!"  said  the  lady;  ''and  the  father's  a  brute 
too,"  said  she.  "  He  takes  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  I  was 
a  kitchen-maid,  and  of  Woolsey  than  if  he  was  a  leg  of  mutton 
—  the  dear,  blessed  little  cherub  !  " 


196 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Mrs.  Crump  was  a  mother-in-law ;  let  us  pardon  her  hatred 
of  her  daughter's  husband. 

The  Woolsey  compared  in  the  above  sentence  both  to  a  leg 
of  mutton  and  a  cherub,  was  not  the  eminent  member  of  the 
firm  of  Linse}^  Woolsey,  and  Co.,  but  the  little  bab}^  who  was 
christened  Howard  Woolsey  Walker,  with  the  full  consent  of 
tlie  father  ;  who  said  the  tailor  was  a  deuced  good  fellow,  and 
felt  really  obliged  to  him  for  the  sherr}^  for  a  frock-coat  which 
he  let  him  have  in  prison,  and  for  his  kindness  to  Morgiana. 
The  tailor  loved  the  little  boy  with  all  his  soul ;  he  attended  his 
mother  to  her  churching,  and  the  child  to  the  font ;  and,  as  a 
present  to  his  little  godson  on  his  christening,  he  sent  two 
3^ards  of  the  finest  white  kersej^mere  in  his  shop  to  make  him  a 
cloak.  The  Duke  had  had  a  jpair  of  inexpressibles  off  that  very 
piece. 

House-furniture  is  bought  and  sold,  music-lessons  are  given, 
children  are  born  and  christened,  ladies  are  confined  and  churched 
—  time,  in  other  words,  passes,  —  and  yet  Captain  Walker  still 
remains  in  prison  !  Does  it  not  seem  strange  that  he  should 
still  languish  there  between  palisaded  walls  near  Fleet  Market, 
and  that  he  should  not  be  restored  to  that  active  and  fashionable 
world  of  which  he  was  an  ornament?  The  fact  is,  the  Captain 
had  been  before  the  Court  for  the  examination  of  his  debts  ; 
and  the  Commissioner,  with  a  cruelty  quite  shameful  towards  a 
fallen  man,  had  qualified  his  ways  of  getting  money  in  most 
severe  language,  and  had  sent  him  back  to  prison  again  for  the 
space  of  nine  calendar  months,  an  indefinite  period,  and  until 
his  accounts  could  be  made  up.  This  delay  Walker  bore 
like  a  philosopher,  and,  far  from  repining,  was  still  the  gay- 
est fellow  of  the  tennis-court,  and  the  soul  of  the  midnight 
carouse. 

There  is  no  use  in  raking  up  old  stories,  and  hunting  through 
files  of  dead  newspapers,  to  know  what  were  the  specific  acts 
which  made  the  Commissioner  so  angry  with  Captain  Walker. 
Many  a  rogue  has  come  before  the  Court,  and  passed  through 
it  since  then  :  and  I  would  lay  a  wager  that  Howard  Walker 
was  not  a  bit  worse  than  his  neighbors.  But  as  he  was  not  a 
lord,  and  as  he  had  no  friends  on  coming  out  of  prison,  and  had 
settled  no  money  on  his  wife,  and  had,  as  it  must  be  confessed, 
an  exceedingly  bad  character,  it  is  not  likely  that  the  latter 
would  be  forgiven  him  when  once  more  free  in  the  world.  For 
instance,  when  Doublequits  left  the  Fleet,  he  was  received  with 
open  arms  by  his  family,  and  had  two-and-thirty  horses  in  his 
stables  before  a  week  was  over.    Pam,  of  the  Dragoons,  came 


THE  EAVENSWING. 


197 


out,  and  instantl}^  got  a  place  as  government  courier,  —  a  place 
found  so  good  of  late  years  (and  no  wonder,  it  is  better  pa}^ 
than  that  of  a  colonel) ,  that  our  noblemen  and  gentry  eagerly 
press  for  it.  Frank  Hurricane  was  sent  out  as  registrar  of 
Tobago,  or  Sago,  or  Ticonderago  ;  in  fact,  for  a  younger  son 
of  good  family  it  is  rather  advantageous  to  get  into  debt  twenty 
or  thirty  thousand  pounds  ;  you  are  sure  of  a  good  place  after- 
wards in  the  colonies.  Your  friends  are  so  anxious  to  get  rid 
of  you,  that  they  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  serve  you. 
And  so  all  the  above  companions  of  misfortune  with  Walker 
were  speedil}'  made  comfortable  ;  but  he  had  no  rich  parents  ; 
his  old  father  was  dead  in  York  gaol.  How  was  he  to  start  in 
the  world  again  ?  What  friendly  hand  was  there  to  fill  his  pocket 
wdth  gold,  and  his  cup  with  sparkling  champagne?  He  was, 
in  fact,  an  object  of  the  greatest  pit}',  —  for  I  know  of  no  greater 
than  a  gentleman  of  his  habits  without  the  means  of  gratif3'ing 
them.  He  must  live  well,  and  he  has  not  the  means.  Is  there 
a  more  pathetic  case  ?  As  for  a  mere  low  beggar  —  some  labor- 
less  laborer,  or  some  weaver  out  of  place  —  don't  let  us  throw 
away  our  compassion  upon  them,  Psha  !  they're  accustomed  to 
starve.  The}'  can  sleep  upon  boards,  or  dine  off  a  crust ; 
whereas  a  gentleman  would  die  in  the  same  situation.  I  think 
this  was  poor  Morgiana's  way  of  reasoning.  For  Walker's 
cash  in  prison  beginning  presentl}'  to  run  low,  and  knowing 
quite  well  that  the  dear  fellow  could  not  exist  there  without  the 
luxuries  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  she  borrowed  money 
from  her  mother,  until  the  poor  old  lady  was  a  sec.  She  even 
confessed,  with  tears,  to  Woolsey,  that  she  was  in  particular 
want  of  twent}'  pounds,  to  pay  a  poor  milliner,  whose  debt  she 
could  not  bear  to  put  in  her  husband's  schedule.  And  I  need 
not  say  she  carried  the  money  to  her  husband,  who  might  have 
been  greatly  benefited  by  it,  — only  he  had  a  bad  run  of  luck  at 
the  cards  ;  and  how  the  deuce  can  a  man  help  that  1 

Woolsey  had  repurchased  for  her  one  of  the  Cashmere 
shawls.  She  left  it  behind  her  one  day  at  the  Fleet  Prison,  and 
some  rascal  stole  it  there  ;  having  the  grace,  however,  to  send 
Woolsey  the  ticket,  signifying  the  place  where  it  had  been 
pawned.  Who  could  the  scoundrel  have  been  ?  Woolsey  swore 
a  great  oath,  and  fancied  he  knew  ;  but  if  it  was  Walker  him- 
self (as  Woolsey  fancied,  and  probably  as  was  the  case)  who 
made  away  with  the  shawl,  being  pressed  thereto  by  necessity, 
was  it  fair  to  call  him  a  scoundrel  for  so  doing,  and  should  we 
not  rather  laud  the  delicacy  of  his  proceeding  ?  He  was  poor  ; 
who  can  command  the  cards?  but  he  did  not  wish  his  wife 


198 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


should  know  how  poor :  he  could  not  bear  that  she  should  sup- 
pose him  arrived  at  the  necessity  of  pawning  a  shawl. 

She  who  had  such  beautiful  ringlets,  of  a  sudden  pleaded 
cold  in  the  head,  and  took  to  wearing  caps.  One  summer 
evening,  as  she  and  the  baby  and  Mrs.  Crump  and  Woolsey 
(let  us  say  all  four  babies  together)  were  laughing  and  playing 
in  Mrs.  Crump's  drawing-room, — placing  the  most  absurd 
gambols,  fat  Mrs.  Crump,  for  instance,  hiding  behind  the  sofa, 
Woolsej'  chuck-chucking,  cock-a-doodle-dooing,  and  performing 
those  indescribable  freaks  which  gentlemen  with  philoprogen- 
itive organs  will  execute  in  the  company  of  children, — in  the 
midst  of  their  pla}^  the  bab}^  gave  a  tug  at  his  mother's  cap  ;  off 
it  came  —  her  hair  was  cut  close  to  her  head  ! 

Morgiana  turned  as  red  as  sealing-wax,  and  trembled  very 
much  ;  Mrs.  Crump  screamed,  My  child,  where  is  3'Our  hair?" 
and  Woolsey,  bursting  out  with  a  most  tremendous  oath  against 
Walker  that  w^ould  send  Miss  Prim  into  convulsions,  put  his 
handkerchief  to  his  face,  and  actually  wept.  ''The  infernal 
bubble-ubble-ackguard ! "  said  he,  roaring  and  clenching  his 
fists. 

As  he  had  passed  the  Bower  of  Bloom  a  few  days  before,  he 
saw  Moss  rose,  who  was  combing  out  a  jet-black  ringlet,  and 
held  it  up,  as  if  for  Woolsey' s  examination,  with  a  peculiar 
grin.  The  tailor  did  not  understand  the  joke,  but  he  saw  now 
what  had  happened.  Morgiana  had  sold  her  hair  for  five  guin- 
eas ;  she  would  have  sold  her  arm  had  her  husband  bidden  her. 
On  looking  in  her  drawers  it  was  found  she  had  sold  almost  all 
her  wearing  apparel ;  the  child's  clothes  were  all  there,  however. 
It  was  because  her  husband  talked  of  disposing  of  a  gilt  coral 
that  the  child  had,  that  she  had  parted  with  the  locks  which  had 
formed  her  pride. 

"I'll  give  you  twenty  guineas  for  that  hair,  yon  infamous 
fat  coward,"  roared  the  little  tailor  to  Eglantine  that  evening. 
"  Give  it  up,  or  I'll  kill  you  —  " 

''  Mr.  Mossrose  !  Mr.  Mossrose  !  "  shouted  the  perfumer. 

"  Veil,  vatsh  de  matter,  vatsh  de  row,  fight  ava}^  my  boys  ; 
two  to  one  on  the  tailor,"  said  Mr.  Mossrose,  much  enjoying 
the  sport  (for  Woolse}',  striding  through  the  shop  without 
speaking  to  him,  had  rushed  into  the  studio,  where  he  plumped 
upon  Eglantine). 

Tell  him  about  that  hair,  sir." 

"  That  hair  !  Now  keep  yourself  quiet,  Mister  Timble,  and 
don't  tink  for  to  bully  me.  You  mean  Mrs.  Valker's  'ah*?  Vy, 
she  sold  it  me." 


THE  RAVEKSWma. 


199 


^'And  the  more  blackguard  you  for  buying  it!    Will  you 
take  twenty  guineas  for  it?  " 
No,"  said  Mossrose. 

"Twenty-five?" 
Can't,"  said  Mossrose. 

"  Hang  it ;  will  you  take  forty?    There  ! 

''I  vish  I'd  kep  it,"  said  the  Hebrew  gentleman,  with  un- 
feigned regret.       Eglantine  dressed  it  this  very  night." 

For  Countess  Baldenstiern,  the  Swedish  Hambassador's 
lady,"  says  Eglantine  (his  Hebrew  partner  was  by  no  means  a 
favorite  with  the  ladies,  and  only  superintended  the  accounts  of 
the  concern).  "  It's  this  very  night  at  Devonshire  'Ouse,  with 
four  hostrich  plumes,  lappets,  and  trimmings.  And  now,  Mr. 
Woolsey,  I'll  trouble  you  to  apologize." 

Mr.  Woolsey  did  not  answer,  but  walked  up  to  Mr.  Eglan- 
tine, and  snapped  his  fingers  so  close  under  the  perfumer's 
nose  that  the  latter  started  back  and  seized  the  bell-rope. 
Mossrose  burst  out  laughing,  and  the  tailor  walked  majestically 
from  the  shop,  with  both  hands  stuck  between  the  lappets  of  his 
coat. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he  to  Morgiana  a  short  time  afterwards, 
''you  must  not  encourage  that  husband  of  yours  in  his  extrava- 
gance, and  sell  the  clothes  olf  your  poor  back,  that  he  may  feast 
and  act  the  fine  gentleman  in  prison." 

"  It  is  his  health,  poor  dear  soul  I  "  interposed  Mrs.  Walker  : 
"  his  chest.  Every  farthing  of  the  money  goes  to  the  doctors, 
poor  fellow !  " 

''  Well,  now  listen  :  I  am  a  rich  man  "  (it  was  a  gi'eat  fib,  for 
Woolsey's  income,  as  a  junior  partner  of  the  firm,  was  but  a  small 
one)  ;  "  I  can  very  well  afford  to  make  him  an  allowance  while  he 
is  in  the  Fleet,  and  have  written  to  him  to  sa}^  so.  But  if  3'ou  ever 
give  him  a  penn}^  or  sell  a  trinket  belonging  to  you,  upon  my 
word  and  honor  I  will  withdraw  the  allowance,  and,  though  it 
would  go  to  m}'  heart,  I'll  never  see  3^ou  again.  You  wouldn't 
make  me  unhappy,  would  you?  " 

''  I'd  go  on  my  knees  to  serve  3^ou,  and  Heaven  bless  3'Ou," 
said  the  wife. 

''Well,  then,  you  must  give  me  this  promise."  And  she 
did.  "And  now,"  said  he,  ''your  mother,  and  Podmore,  and 
I,  have  been  talking  over  matters,  and  we've  agreed  that  you 
ma}^  make  a  very  good  income  for  yourself;  though,  to  be  sure, 
I  wish  it  could  have  been  managed  any  other  way  ;  but  needs 
must,  3'Ou  know.    You're  the  finest  singer  in  the  universe." 

"  La  !  "  said  Morgiana,  highly  delighted. 


200  MEN'S  WIVES. 

never  heard  anything  like  3^ou,  though  Tm  no  judge. 
Podmore  sa,ys  he  is  sure  you  will  do  very  well,  and  has  no 
doubt  3^ou  might  get  very  good  engagements  at  concerts  or  on 
the  stage  ;  and  as  that  husband  will  never  do  any  good,  and 
you  have  a  child  to  support,  sing  3^ou  must." 

Oh !  how  glad  I  should  be  to  pa}^  his  debts  and  repay  all 
he  has  done  for  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Walker.       Think  of  his  giving 
two  hundred  guineas  to  Mr.  Baroski  to  have  me  taught.  Was 
not  that  kind  of  him?    Do  yon  really  think  I  should  succeed?  " 
There's  Miss  Larkins  has  succeeded." 

"  The  little,  high-shouldered,  vulgar  thing  !  "  says  Morgiana. 
"  Fm  sure  I  ought  to  succeed  if  she  did." 

She  sing  against  Morgiana? "  said  Mrs.  Crump.  "  I'd  like 
to  see  her,  indeed  !    She  ain't  fit  to  snuff  a  candle  to  her." 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  said  the  tailor,  ''though  I  don't  under- 
stand the  thing  myself;  but  if  Morgiana  can  make  a  fortune, 
why  shouldn't  she?  " 

''Heaven  knows  we  want  it,  Woolsey,"  cried  Mrs.  Crump. 
"And  to  see  her  on  the  stage  was  always  the  wish  of  my 
heart :  "  and  so  it  had  formerly  been  the  wish  of  Morgiana ; 
and  now,  with  the  hope  of  helping  her  husband  and  child,  the 
wish  became  a  duty,  and  she  fell  to  practising  once  more  from 
morning  till  night. 

One  of  the  most  generous  of  men  and  tailors  who  ever  lived 
now  promised,  if  further  instruction  should  be  considered  neces- 
sary (though  that  he  could  hardlj^  beUeve  possible),  that  he 
would  lend  Morgiana  any  sum  required  for  the  payment  of  les- 
sons ;  and  accordingly  she  once  mt)re  betook  herself,  under  Pod- 
more's  advice,  to  the  singing  school.  Baroski's  academy  was, 
after  the  passages  between  them,  out  of  the  question,  and  she 
placed  herself  under  the  instruction  of  the  excellent  English 
composer  Sir  George  Thrum,  whose  large  and  awful  wife.  Lady 
Thrum,  dragon  of  virtue  and  propriet}^,  kept  watch  over  the 
master  and  the  pupils,  and  was  the  sternest  guardian  of  female 
virtue  on  or  off  any  stage. 

Morgiana  came  at  a  propitious  moment.  Baroski  had 
launched  Miss  Larkins  under  the  name  of  Ligonier.  The 
Ligonier  was  enjoying  considerable  success,  and  was  singing 
classical  music  to  tolerable  audiences,  whereas  Miss  Butts,  Sir 
George's  last  pupil,  had  turned  out  a  complete  failure,  and  the 
rival  house  was  only  able  to  make  a  faint  opposition  to  the 
new  star  with  Miss  M'Whirter,  who,  though  an  old  favorite, 
had  lost  her  upper  notes  and  her  front  teeth,  and,  the  fact  was, 
drew  no  longer. 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


201 


Directly  Sir  George  heard  Mrs.  Walker,  he  tapped  Podmore, 
who  accompanied  her,  on  the  waistcoat,  and  said,  "  Podd}^ 
thank  3'ou  ;  we'll  cut  the  orange-boy's  throat  with  that  voice." 
It  was  by  the  familiar  title  of  orange-boy  that  the  great  Baroski 
was  known  among  his  opponents. 

"  We'll  crush  him,  Podmore,"  said  Lad}^  Thrum,  in  her  deep 
hollow  voice.  You  may  stop  and  dine."  And  Podmore 
stayed  to  dinner,  and  ate  cold  mutton,  and  drank  Marsala  with 
the  greatest  reverence  for  the  great  English  composer.  The 
ver}^  next  day  Lad}^  Thrum  hired  a  pair  of  horses,  and  paid  a 
visit  to  Mrs.  Crump  and  her  daughter  at     Sadler's  Wells." 

All  these  things  were  kept  profoundly  secret  from  Walker, 
who  received  very  magnanimously  the  allowance  of  two  guineas 
a- week  which  Woolsej^  made  him,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  few 
shillings  his  wife  could  bring  him,  managed  to  exist  as  best  he 
might.  He  did  not  dislike  gin  when  he  could  get  no  claret,  and 
the  former  liquor,  under  the  name  of  tape,"  used  to  be  meas- 
ured out  pretty  liberally  in  what  was  formerly  her  Majesty's 
prison  of  the  Fleet. 

Morgiana  pursued  her  studies  under  Thrum,  and  we  shall 
hear  in  the  next  chapter  how  it  was  she  changed  her  name  to 
Ravenswing. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

IN  WHICH  MORGIANA  ADVANCES  TOWARDS  FAME  AND  HONOR, 
AND  IN  WHICH  SEVERAL  GREAT  LITERARY  CHARACTERS  MAKE 
THEIR  APPEARANCE. 

"  We  must  begin,  m^^dear  madam,"  said  Sir  George  Thrum, 
by  unlearning  all  that  Mr.  Baroski  (of  whom  I  do  not  wish 
to  speak  with  the  slightest  disrespect)  has  taught  3'ou  !  " 

Morgiana  knew  that  every  professor  saj's  as  much,  and  sub- 
mitted to  undergo  the  stud}^  requisite  for  Sir  George's  system 
with  perfect  good  grace.  Au  fond^  as  I  was  given  to  under- 
stand, the  methods  of  the  two  artists  were  pretty  similar ;  but 
as  there  was  rivalry  between  them,  and  continual  desertion  of 
scholars  from  one  school  to  another,  it  was  fair  for  each  to  take 
all  the  credit  he  could  get  in  the  success  of  an}^  pupil.  If  a 
pupil  failed,  for  instance.  Thrum  would  say  Baroski  had  spoiled 
her  irretrievably;  while  the  German  would  regret ''Dat  dat 


202 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


yong  voman,  who  had  a  good  organ,  should  have  trown  away 
her  dime  wid  dat  old  Drum.''  When  one  of  these  deserters 
succeeded,  Yes,  yes,"  would  either  professor  cry,  I  formed 
her,  she  owes  her  fortune  to  me."  Both  of  them  thus,  in  future 
days,  claimed  the  education  of  the  famous  Ravens  wing ;  and 
even  Sir  George  Thrum,  though  he  wished  to  ecraser  the 
Ligonier,  pretended  that  her  present  success  was  his  work, 
because  once  she  had  been  brought  by  her  mother,  Mrs.  Lar- 
kins,  to  sing  for  Sir  George's  approval. 

When  the  two  professors  met  it  was  with  the  most  delighted 
cordiality  on  the  part  of  both.  "  Mein  lieher  Herr^''  Thrum 
would  sa}^  (with  some  malice),  "  3^our  sonata  in  x  flat  is  divine." 
"  Chevalier,"  Baroski  would  reply,  dat  andante  movement  in 
w  is  worthy  of  Beethoven.  I  gif  3'ou  my  sacred  honor,"  and 
so  forth.  In  fact,  they  loved  each  other  as  gentlemen  in  their 
profession  always  do. 

The  two  famous  professors  conduct  their  academies  on  very 
opposite  principles.  Baroski  writes  ballet  music ;  Thrum,  on 
the  contrary,  sa^^s  "  he  cannot  but  deplore  the  dangerous  fasci- 
nations of  the  dance,"  and  writes  more  for  Exeter  Hall  and 
Birmingham.  While  Baroski  drives  a  cab  in  the  Park  with  a 
very  suspicious  Mademoiselle  Leocadie,  or  Amenaide,  by  his 
side,  you  ma}^  see  Thrum  walking  to  evening  church  with  his 
lady,  and  hj^mns  are  sung  there  of  his  own  composition.  He 
belongs  to  the  Athenaeum  Club,"  he  goes  to  the  levee  once 
a-year,  he  does  everything  that  a  respectable  man  should,  and 
if,  by  the  means  of  this  respectability,  he  manages  to  make  his 
little  trade  far  more  profitable  than  it  otherwise  would  be,  are 
we  to  quarrel  with  him  for  it? 

Sir  George,  in  fact,  had  every  reason  to  be  respectable. 
He  had  been  a  choir-boy  at  W^indsor,  had  pla3'ed  to  the  old 
King's  violoncello,  had  been  intimate  with  him,  and  had  re- 
ceived knighthood  at  the  hand  of  his  revered  sovereign.  He 
had  a  snulf-box  which  his  Majesty  gave  him,  and  portraits  of 
him  and  the  young  princes  all  over  the  house.  He  had  also  a 
foreign  order  (no  other,  indeed,  than  the  Elephant  and  Castle 
of  Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickel),  conferred  upon  him  by  the 
Grand  Duke  when  here  with  the  allied  sovereigns  in  1814. 
With  this  ribbon  round  his  neck,  on  gala  days,  and  in  a  white 
waistcoat,  the  old  gentleman  looked  splendid  as  he  moved 
along  in  a  blue  coat  with  the  Windsor  button,  and  neat  black 
small-clothes,  and  silk  stockings.  He  lived  in  an  old,  tall, 
dingy  house,  furnished  in  the  reign  of  George  III.,  his  beloved 
master,  and  not  much  more  cheerful  now  than  a  family  vault. 


THE  RAYENSWING. 


203 


They  are  awfully  funereal,  those  ornaments  of  the  close  of  the 
last  century, — tall,  gloomy,  horse-hair  chairs,  mouldy  Turkey 
carpets,  with  wretched  druggets  to  guard  them,  little  cracked 
sticking-plaster  miniatures  of  people  in  tours  and  pigtails  over 
high-shouldered  mantel-pieces,  two  dismal  urns  on  each  side  of 
a  lanky  sideboard,  and  in  the  midst  a  queer  twisted  receptacle 
for  worn-out  knives  with  green  handles.  Under  the  sideboard 
stands  a  cellaret  that  looks  as  if  it  held  half  a  bottle  of  currant 
wine,  and  a  shivering  plate-warmer  that  never  could  get  any 
comfort  out  of  the  wretched  old  cramped  grate  yonder.  Don't 
you  know  in  such  houses  the  gray  gloom  that  hangs  over  the 
stairs,  the  dull-colored  old  carpet  that  winds  its  way  up  the 
same,  grooving  thinner,  duller,  and  more  threadbare,  as  it 
mounts  to  the  bedroom  floors?  There  is  something  awful  in  the 
bedroom  of  a  respectable  old  couple  of  sixty-five.  Think  of  the 
old  feathers,  turbans,  bugles,  petticoats,  pomatum-pots,  spen- 
cers, white  satin  shoes,  false  fronts,  the  old  flaccid,  boneless 
stays  tied  up  in  faded  ribbon,  the  Tiusky  fans,  the  old  forty- 
3^ears-old  baby-linen,  the  letters  of  Sir  George  when  he  was 
young,  the  doll  of  poor  Maria,  who  died  in  1803,  Frederick's 
first  corduroy  breeches,  and  the  newspaper  which  contains  the 
account  of  his  distinguishing  himself  at  the  siege  of  Seringapa- 
tam.  All  these  lie  somewhere,  damp  and  squeezed  down  into 
glum  old  presses  and  wardrobes.  At  that  glass  the  wife  has 
sat  many  times  these  fifty  years ;  in  that  old  morocco  bed  her 
children  were  born.  Where  are  they  now?  Fred,  the  brave 
captain,  and  Charles,  the  saucy  colleger ;  there  hangs  a  draw- 
ing of  him  done  by  Mr.  Beechey,  and  that  sketch  by  Cosway 
was  the  very  likeness  of  Louisa  before  .  .  . 

Mr.  Fitz-Boodle  !  for  Heaven's  sake  come  down.  What 
are  you  doing  in  a  lady's  bedroom?  " 

The  fact  is,  madam,  I  had  no  business  there  in  life  ;  but, 
having  had  quite  enough  wine  with  Sir  George,  my  thoughts 
had  wandered  up  stairs  into  the  sanctuary  of  female  excellence, 
where  your  ladyship  nightlj'  reposes.  You  do  not  sleep  so  well 
now  as  in  old  days,  though  there  is  no  patter  of  little  steps  to 
wake  you  overhead." 

They  call  that  room  the  nurser}^  still,  and  the  little  wicket 
still  hangs  at  the  upper  stairs :  it  has  been  there  for  forty  years 
—  bon  Dieii !  Can't  3^ou  see  the  ghosts  of  little  faces  peering 
over  it?  I  wonder  whether  they  get  up  in  the  night  as  the 
moonlight  shines  into  the  blank,  vacant  old  room,  and  play 
there  solemnly  with  little  ghostly  horses,  and  the  spirits  of 
dolls,  and  tops  that  turn  and  turn  but  don't  hum. 


204 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Once  more,  sir,  come  clown  to  the  lower  story  —  that  is,  to 
the  Morgiana  story — with  which  the  above  sentences  have  no 
more  to  do  than  this  morning's  leading  article  in  The  Times; 
only  it  was  at  this  liouse  of  Sir  George  Thrum's  that  I  met 
Morgiana.  Sir  George,  in  old  days,  had  instructed  some  of 
the  female  members  of  our  family,  and  I  recollect  cutting  my 
lingers  as  a  child  with  one  of  these  attenuated  green-handled 
knives  in  the  queer  box  yonder. 

In  those  da^  s  Sir  George  Thrum  was  the  first  great  musical 
teacher  of  London,  and  the  royal  patronage  brought  him  a  great 
number  of  fashionable  pupils,  of  whom  Lady  Fitz-Boodle  was 
one.  It  was  a  long,  long  time  ago :  in  fact.  Sir  George  Thrum 
was  old  enough  to  remember  persons  who  had  been  present  at 
Mr.  Braham's  first  appearance,  and  the  old  gentleman's  days 
of  triumph  had  been  those  of  Billington  and  Incledon,  Catalani 
and  Madame  S  to  race. 

He  w^as  the  author  of  several  operas  ('^  The  Camel  Driver," 
^'Britons  Alarmed;  or  the  Siege  of  Bergen-op-Zoom,"  &c. 
&c.)  and,  of  course,  of  songs  which  had  considerable  success 
in  their  da}',  but  are  forgotten  now,  and  are  as  much  faded  and 
out  of  fasliion  as  those  old  carpets  which  we  have  described  in 
the  professor's  house,  and  which  were,  doubtless,  ver}'  briUiant 
once.  But  such  is  the  fate  of  carpets,  of  flowers,  of  music,  of 
men,  and  of  the  most  admirable  novels  —  even  this  stor}^  will 
not  be  alive  for  many  centuries.  Well,  well,  why  struggle 
against  Fate  ? 

But,  though  his  hey-day  of  fashion  was  gone.  Sir  George 
still  held  his  place  among  the  musicians  of  the  old  school,  con- 
ducted occasionally  at  the  Ancient  Concerts  and  the  ''  Philhar- 
monic," and  his  glees  are  still  favorites  after  public  dinners, 
and  are  sung  by  those  old  bacchanalians,  in  chestnut  wigs,  who 
attend  for  the  purpose  of  amusing  the  guests  on  such  occasions 
of  festivity.  The  great  old  people  at  the  gloom}'  old  concerts 
before  mentioned  always  pay  Sir  George  marked  respect ;  and, 
indeed,  from  the  old  gentleman's  peculiar  behavior  to  his  su- 
periors, it  is  impossible  they  should  not  be  delighted  with  him, 
so  he  leads  at  almost  every  one  of  the  concerts  in  the  old-fash- 
ioned houses  in  town. 

Becomingly  obsequious  to  his  superiors,  he  is  with  the  rest 
of  the  world  properly  majestic,  and  has  obtained  no  small  suc- 
cess by  his  admirable  and  undeviating  respectability.  Respect- 
ability has  b(ien  his  great  card  through  life  ;  ladies  can  trust 
their  daughters  at  Sir  George  Thrum's  academy.  ''  A  good 
musician,  madam,"  says  he  to  the  mother  of  a  new  pupil, 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


205 


should  not  only  have  a  fine  ear,  a  good  voice,  and  an  in- 
domitable industry,  but,  above  all,  a  faultless  character  —  fault- 
less, that  is,  as  far  as  our  poor  nature  will  permit.  And  you 
will  remark  that  those  young  persons  with  whom  your  lovely 
daughter,  Miss  Smith,  will  pursue  her  musical  studies,  are  all, 
in  a  moral  point  of  view,  as  spotless  as  that  charming  young 
lady.  How  should  it  be  otherwise?  1  have  been  myself  the 
father  of  a  family  ;  I  have  been  honored  with  the  intimacy  of 
the  wisest  and  best  of  kings,  my  late  sovereign  George  III., 
and  I  can  proudly  show  an  example  of  decorum  to  my  i)upils 
in  my  Sophia.  Mrs.  Smith,  1  have  the  honor  of  introducing  to 
you  my  Lady  Thrum." 

The  old  lady  would  rise  at  this,  and  make  a  gigantic  curtsy, 
such  a  one  as  had  begun  the  minuet  at  Ranelagh  fifty  years 
ago,  and,  the  introduction  ended,  Mrs.  Smith  would  retire, 
after  having  seen  the  portraits  of  the  princes,  his  late  Majesty's 
snutf-box,  and  a  piece  of  music  which  he  used  to  play,  noted 
by  himself —  Mrs.  Smith,  I  say,  would  drive  back  to  Baker 
Street,  delighted  to  think  that  her  Frederica  had  secui'ed  so  eli- 
gible and  respectable  a  master.  I  forgot  to  say  that,  during  the 
interview  between  Mrs.  Smith  and  Sir  George,  the  latter  would 
be  called  out  of  his  study  by  his  black  servant,  and  my  Lady 
Thrum  would  take  that  opportunity  of  mentioning  when  he  was 
knighted,  and  how  he  got  his  foreign  order,  and  deploring  the 
sad  condition  of  other  musical  professors,  and  the  dreadful  im- 
moralit}^  which  sometimes  arose  in  consequence  of  their  lax- 
ness.  Sir  George  was  a  good  deal  engaged  to  dinners  in  the 
season,  and  if  invited  to  dine  with  a  nobleman,  as  he  might 
possibly  be  on  the  day  when  Mrs.  Smith  requested  the  honor 
of  his  company,  he  would  write  back  that  he  should  have  had 
the  sincerest  happiness  in  waiting  upon  Mrs.  Smith  in  Baker 
Street,  if,  previously,  my  Lord  Tweedledale  had  not  been  so 
kind  as  to  engage  him."  This  letter,  of  course,  shown  by  Mrs. 
Smith  to  her  friends,  was  received  by  them  with  proper  respect ; 
and  thus,  in  spite  of  age  and  new  fashions,  Sir  George  still 
reigned  pre-eminent  for  a  mile  round  Cavendish  Square.  By 
the  3'oung  pupils  of  the  academy  he  was  called  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  ;  and,  indeed,  full}'  deserved  this  title  on  account 
of  the  indomitable  respectabilit}'  of  his  whole  actions. 

It  was  under  this  gentleman  that  Morgiana  made  her  debut 
in  public  life.  I  do  not  know  what  arrangements  may  have 
been  made  between  Sir  George  Thrum  and  his  pupil  regarding 
the  profits  which  were  to  accrue  to  the  former  from  engage- 
ments procured  by  him  for  the  latter ;  but  there  was,  no  doubt, 


206 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


an  understanding  between  them.  For  Sir  George,  respectable 
as  he  was,  had  the  reputation  of  being  extremely  clever  at 
a  bargain  ;  and  Lad}^  Thrum  herself,  in  her  great  high-tragedy 
way,  could  purchase  a  pair  of  soles  or  select  a  leg  of  mutton 
with  the  best  housekeeper  in  London. 

When,  however,  Morgiana  had  been  for  some  six  months 
under  his  tuition,  he  began,  for  some  reason  or  other,  to  be 
exceedingly  hospitable,  and  invited  his  friends  to  numerous 
entertainments  ;  at  one  of  which,  as  I  have  said,  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  Mrs.  Walker. 

Although  the  worthy  musician's  dinners  were  not  good,  the 
old  knight  had  some  excellent  wine  in  his  cellar,  and  his  arrange- 
ment of  his  party  deserves  to  be  commended. 

For  instance,  he  meets  me  and  Bob  Fitz-Urse  in  Pall  Mall, 
at  whose  paternal  house  he  was  also  a  visitor.  "  My  dear 
young  gentlemen,"  sa^'s  he,  ^' will  3^ou  come  and  dine  with  a 
poor  musical  composer?  I  have  some  comet-hock,  and,  what 
is  more  curious  to  you  perhaps,  as  men  of  wit,  one  or  two  of 
the  great  literary  characters  of  London  whom  you  would  like 
to  see  —  quite  curiosities,  my  dear  young  friends."  And  we 
agreed  to  go. 

To  the  literary  men  he  says,  1  have  a  little  quiet  part}'  at 
home.  Lord  Roundtowers,  the  Honorable  Mr.  Fitz-Urse  of  the 
Life  Guards,  and  a  few  more.  Can  you  tear  yourself  away 
from  the  war  of  wits,  and  take  a  quiet  dinner  with  a  few  mere 
men  about  town  ?  " 

The  literar}^  men  instantly  purchase  new  satin  stocks  and 
white  gloves,  and  are  delighted  to  fancy  themselves  members 
of  the  world  of  fashion.  Instead  of  inviting  twelve  Royal 
Academicians,  or  a  dozen  authors,  or  a  dozen  men  of  science 
to  dinner,  as  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  and  the  Right  Hon- 
orable Sir  Robert  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  once  a  year, 

this  plan  of  fusion  is  the  one  they  should  adopt.  Not  invite 
all  artists,  as  they  would  invite  all  farmers  to  a  rent-dinner ; 
but  they  should  have  a  proper  commingling  of  artists  and  men 
of  the  world.  There  is  one  of  the  latter  whose  name  is  George 
Savage  Fitz-Boodle,  who  —  but  let  us  return  to  Sir  George 
Thrum. 

Fitz-Urse  and  I  arrive  at  the  dismal  old  house,  and  are  con- 
ducted up  the  staircase  by  a  black  servant,  who  shouts  out, 
"  Missa  Fiss-Boodle  —  the  Honorable  Missa  Fiss-Urse  !  "  It 
was  evident  that  Lady  Thrum  had  instructed  the  swarthy  groom 
of  the  chamlxu's  (for  there  is  nothing  particularl}^  honorable  in 
my  friend  Fitz's  face  that  I  know  of,  unless  an  abominable 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


207 


squint  may  be  said  to  be  so).  Lady  Thrum,  whose  figure  is 
something  Uke  that  of  the  shot-tower  opposite  Waterloo^  Bridge, 
makes  a  majestic  incUnation  and  a  speech  to  signify  her  pleas- 
ure at  receiving  under  her  roof  two  of  the  children  of  Sir 
George's  best  pupils.  A  lady  in  black  velvet  is  seated  by  the 
old  fireplace,  with  whom  a  stout  gentleman  in  an  exceedingly 
light  coat  and  ornamental  waistcoat  is  talking  very  busily. 
"The  great  star  of  the  night,"  whispers  our  host.  "Mrs. 
Walker,  gentlemen  —  the  Ravenswing  I    She  is  talking  to  the 

famous  Mr.  Slang,  of  the  theatre." 

"Is  she  a  fine  singer?"  says  Fitz-Urse.    "She's  a  very 
fine  woman." 

"  My  dear  young  friends,  you  shall  hear  to-night !  I,  who 
have  heard  every  fine  voice  in  Europe,  confidently^  pledge 
m}^  respectability  that  the  Ravensvving  is  equal  to  them  all. 
She  has  the  graces,  sir,  of  a  Venus  with  the  mind  of  a  muse.  ' 
She  is  a  siren,  sir,  without  the  dangerous  qualities  of  one.  She 
is  hallowed,  sir,  by  her  misfortunes  as  by  her  genius  ;  and  I 
am  proud  to  think  that  my  instructions  have  been  the  means 
of  developing  the  wondrous  qualities  that  were  latent  within 
her  until  now." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  saj^s  gobemouche  Fitz-Urse. 

Having  thus  indoctrinated  Mr.  Fitz-Urse,  Sir  George  takes 
another  of  his  guests,  and  proceeds  to  work  upon  him,  "My 
dear  Mr.  Bludyer,  how  do  jow  do?  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle,  Mr. 
Bludyer,  the  briUiant  and  accomplished  wit,  whose  sallies  in 
the  Tomahawk  delight  us  ever}^  Saturda3\  Naj^,  no  blushes, 
m}^  dear  sir  ;  3'ou  are  very  wicked,  but  oh  !  so  pleasant.  Well, 
Mr.  Bludyer,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,  and  hope  you  will  have 
a  favorable  opinion  of  our  genius,  sir.  As  I  was  saying  to 
Mr.  Fitz-Boodle,  she  has  the  graces  of  a  Yenus  with  the  mind 
of  a  muse.  She  is  a  siren,  without  the  dangerous  qualities  of 
one,"  &c.  This  little  speech  was  made  to  half  a  dozen  persons 
in  the  course  of  the  evening  —  persons,  for  the  most  part,  con- 
nected with  the  public  journals  or  the  theatrical  world.  There 
was  Mr.  Squinny^,  the  editor  of  the  Floivers  of  Fashion ;  Mr. 
Desmond  Mulligan,  the  poet,  and  reporter  for  a  morning  paper  ; 
and  other  worthies  of  their  calling.  For  though  Sir  George  is 
a  respectable  man,  and  as  high-minded  and  moral  an  old  gentle- 
man as  ever  wore  knee-buckles,  he  does  not  neglect  the  little 
arts  of  popularity',  and  can  condesceifd  to  receive  very'  queer 
company  if  need  be. 

For  instance,  at  the  dinner-party  at  which  I  had  the  honor 
of  assisting,  and  at  which,  on  the  right  hand  of  Lad}'  Thrum, 


208 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


sat  the  ohllge  nobleman,  whom  the  Thrums  were  a  great  deal 
too  wise  to  omit  (the  sight  of  a  lord  does  good  to  us  com- 
moners, or  why  else  should  we  be  so  anxious  to  have  one?). 
In  tlie  second  place  of  honor,  and  on  her  ladyship's  left  hand, 
sat  Mr.  Slang,  the  manager  of  one  of  the  theatres  ;  a  gentleman 
whom  m}'  Lady  Thrum  would  scarcely,  but  for  a  great  neces- 
sit3^'s  sake,  have  been  induced  to  invite  to  her  table.  He  had 
the  honor  of  leading  Mrs.  Walker  to  dinner,  who  looked  splen- 
did in  black  velvet  and  turban,  full  of  health  and  smiles. 

Lord  Roundtowers  is  an  old  gentleman  who  has  been  at  the 
theatres  five  times  a  week  for  these  fifty  3^ears,  a  living  diction- 
ary of  the  stage,  recollecting  every  actor  and  actress  who  has 
appeared  upon  it  for  half  a  century.  He  perfectlj^  well  remem- 
bered Miss  Delancy  in  Morgiana ;  he  knew  what  had  become 
of  Ali  Baba,  and  how  Cassim  had  left  the  stage,  and  was  now 
the  keeper  of  a  public-house.  All  this  store  of  knowledge  he  kept 
quietly  to  himself,  or  only  delivered  in  confidence  to  his  next 
neighbor  in  the  intervals  of  the  banquet,  which  he  enjoys  pro- 
digiously. He  lives  at  an  hotel :  if  not  invited  to  dine,  eats  a 
mutton-chop  very  humbl}'  at  his  club,  and  finishes  his  evening 
after  the  pla}'  at  Crockford's,  whither  he  goes  not  for  the  sake  of 
the  play  but  of  the  supper  there.  He  is  described  in  the  Court 
Guide  as  of  Simmer's  Hotel,"  and  of  Roundtowers,  county 
Cork.  It  is  said  that  the  round  towers  really  exist.  But  he  has 
not  been  in  Ireland  since  the  rebeUion  ;  and  his  property  is  so 
hampered  with  ancestral  mortgages,  and  rent-charges,  and  an- 
nuities, that  his  income  is  barely  sufficient  to  provide  the  mod- 
est mutton-chop  before  alluded  to.  He  has,  any  time  these 
fifty  3' ears,  lived  in  the  wickedest  company  in  London,  and  is, 
withal,  as  harmless,  mild,  good-natured,  innocent  an  old  gen- 
tleman as  can  readil}^  be  seen. 

''Roundy,"  shouts  the  elegant  Mr.  Slang,  across  the  table, 
with  a  voice  which  makes  Lady  Thrum  shudder,  Tuflf,  a  glass 
of  wine." 

My  lord  replies  meekly,  "Mr.  Slang,  I  shall  have  very 
much  pleasure.    What  shall  it  be?  " 

''There  is  Madeira  near  you,  m}'  lord,"  says  my  lad}-,  point- 
ing to  a  tall  thin  decanter  of  the  fashion  of  the  3^ear. 

''  Madeira  !  Marsala,  by  Jove,  your  ladj^ship  means  !  "  shouts 
Mr.  Slang.  "No,  no,  old  birds  are  not  caught  with  chaflT. 
Thrum,  old  boy,  let's  have  some  of  your  comet  hock." 

"My  Lady  Thrum,  I  believe  that  is  Marsala,"  sa3^s  the 
knight,  blushing  a  little  in  reply  to  a  question  from  his  Sophia. 
"  Ajax,  the  hock  to  Mr.  Slang." 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


209 


"  Fm  in  that,"  yells  Bludyer  from  the  end  of  the  table. 
My  lord,  I'll  join  you/' 

"  Mr.  ,  I  beg  your  pardon  —  I  shall  be  very  happy  to 

take  wine  with  you,  sir." 

''It  is  Mr.  Bludyer,  the  celebrated  newspaper  writer," 
whispers  Lady  Thrum. 

''  Bludyer,  Bludyer?  A  very  clever  man,  I  dare  say.  He 
has  a  very  loud  voice,  and  reminds  me  of  Brett.  Does  your 
ladyship  remember  Brett,  who  played  the  'Fathers'  at  the 
Hay  market  in  1802?" 

"  What  an  old  stupid  Roundtowers  is  !  "  says  Slang,  archly, 
nudging  Mrs.  Walker  in  the  side.    "  How's  Walker,  eh  ?  " 

"My  husband  is  in  the  country,"  replied  Mrs.  Walker, 
hesitatingl3^ 

"  Oammon  !  /  know  where  he  is  !  Law  bless  you  —  don't 
blush.  I've  been  there  myself  a  dozen  times.  We  were  talking 
about  quod.  Lady  Thrum.    Were  you  ever  in  college?  " 

"  I  was  at  the  Commemoration  at  Oxford  in  1814,  when  the 
sovereigns  were  there,  and  at  Cambridge  when  Sir  George 
received  his  degree  of  Doctor  of  Music." 

"  Laud,  Laud,  thafs  not  the  college  we  mean." 

"  There  is  also  the  college  in  Gower  Street,  where  m}^  grand- 
son—" 

"  This  is  the  college  in  Queer  Street^  ma'am,  haw,  haw  !  Mul- 
ligan, you  divvle  (in  an  Irish  accent),  a  glass  of  wine  with  you. 
Wine,  here,  you  waiter  !  What's  3'our  name,  3'ou  black  nigger? 
'Possum  up  a  gum-tree,  eh?  Fill  him  up.  Dere  he  go"  (imi- 
tating the  Mandingo  manner  of  speaking  English). 

In  this  agreeable  way  would  Mr.  Slang  rattle  on,  speedil}^ 
making  himself  the  centre  of  the  conversation,  and  addressing 
graceful  familiarities  to  all  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  round  him. 

It  was  good  to  see  how  the  little  knight,  the  most  moral  and 
calm  of  men,  was  compelled  to  receive  Mr.  Slang's  stories,  and 
the  frightened  air  with  which,  at  the  conclusion  of  one  of  them, 
he  would  venture  upon  a  commendatory  grin.  His  lady,  on 
her  part  too,  had  been  laboriously  civil ;  and,  on  the  occasion 
on  which  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  this  gentleman  and  Mrs. 
Walker,  it  was  the  latter  who  gave  the  signal  for  withdrawing 
to  the  lad}'  of  the  house,  by  saying,  "  I  think,  Lad}'  Thrum,  it 
is  quite  time  for  us  to  retire."  Some  exquisite  joke  of  Mr. 
Slang's  was  the  cause  of  this  abrupt  disappearance.  But,  as 
they  went  up  stairs  to  the  drawing-room.  Lady  Thrum  took  oc- 
casion to  say,  "  My  dear,  in  the  course  of  your  profession  you 
will  have  to  submit  to  many  such  familiarities  on  the  part  of 

14 


210 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


persons  of  low  breeding,  such  as  I  fear  Mr.  Slang  is.  But  let 
me  caution  yon  against  giving  way  to  your  temper  as  you  did. 
Did  3^ou  not  perceive  that  /  never  allowed  him  to  see  my  in- 
ward dissatisfaction?  And  I  make  it  a  particular  point  that 
3'ou  should  be  very  civil  to  him  to-night.  Your  interests  —  our 
interests  —  depend  upon  it." 

"And  are  my  interests  to  make  me  civil  to  a  wretch  like 
that?" 

Mrs.  Walker,  would  3^ou  wish  to  give  lessons  in  morality 
and  behavior  to  Lady  Thrum?"  said  the  old  lady,  drawing 
herself  up  with  great  dignit}'.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  a 
very  strong  desire  indeed  to  concihate  Mr.  Slang ;  and  hence 
I  have  no  doubt  that  Sir  George  was  to  have  a  considerable 
share  of  Morgiana's  earnings. 

Mr.  Bludyer,  the  famous  editor  of  the  Tomahawk^  whose 
jokes  Sir  George  pretended  to  admire  so  much  (Sir  George 
who  never  made  a  joke  in  his  Ufe),  was  a  press  bravo  of  con- 
siderable talent  and  no  principle,  and  who,  to  use  his  own 
words,  would  back  liimself  for  a  slashing  article  against  an}' 
man  in  England  !  "  He  would  not  onl}'  write,  but  fight  on  a 
pinch  ;  was  a  good  scholar,  and  as  savage  in  his  manner  as 
with  his  pen.  Mr.  Squinny  is  of  exactly  the  opposite  school, 
as  delicate  as  milk  and  water,  harmless  in  his  habits,  fond  of 
the  flute  when  the  state  of  his  chest  will  allow  him,  a  great 
practiser  of  waltzing  and  dancing  in  general,  and  in  his  journal 
mildl}'  malicious.  He  never  goes  beyond  the  bounds  of  po- 
liteness, but  manages  to  insinuate  a  great  deal  that  is  disagree- 
able to  an  author  in  the  course  of  twenty  lines  of  criticism. 
Personally  he  is  quite  respectable,  and  lives  with  two  maiden 
aunts  at  Brompton.  Nobod\%  on  the  contrar}^,  knows  where 
Mr.  Bludyer  lives.  He  has  houses  of  call,  mysterious  taverns 
where  he  may  be  found  at  particular  hours  b}^  those  who  need 
him,  and  where  panting  publishers  are  in  the  habit  of  hunting 
him  \\\).  For  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  guinea  he  will  write  a 
page  of  praise  or  abuse  of  any  man  living,  or  on  £iny  subject, 
or  on  an}^  line  of  politics.  Hang  it,  sir,"  says  he,  pay  me 
enough  and  I  will  write  down  my  own  father  !  "  According  to 
the  state  of  his  credit,  he  is  dressed  either  almost  in  rags  or 
else  in  the  extremest  flush  of  fashion.  AVith  the  latter  attire 
he  puts  on  a  haughty  and  aristocratic  air,  and  would  slap  a 
duke  on  the  shoulder.  If  there  is  one  tiling  more  danger- 
ous than  to  refuse  to  lend  him  a  sum  of  money  when  he  asks 
for  it,  it  is  to  lend  it  to  him  ;  for  he  never  pa3's,  and  never 
pardons  a  man  to  whom  he  owes.       Walker  refused  to  cash 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


211 


a  bill  for  me,"  he  had  been  heard  to  say,  and  Til  do  for  his 
wife  when  she  comes  out  on  the  stage  !  "  Mrs.  Walker  and  Sir 
George  Thrum  were  in  an  agon}'  about  the  Tomahawk  ;  hence  the 
latter's  invitation  to  Mr.  Bhulj  er.  Sir  George  was  in  a  great 
tremor  about  the  Flowers  of  Fashion^  hence  his  invitation  to  Mr. 
Squinn3\  Mr.  Squinn}^  was  introduced  to  Lord  Roundtowers 
and  Mr.  Fitz-Urse  as  one  of  the  most  delightful  and  talented  of 
our  young  men  of  genius  ;  and  Fitz,  who  believes  everything 
anj'one  tells  him,  was  quite  pleased  to  have  the  honor  of  sit- 
ting near  the  live  editor  of  a  paper.  I  have  reason  to  think  that 
Mr.  Squinny  himself  was  no  less  delighted  :  1  saw  him  giving 
his  card  to  Fitz-Urse  at  the  end  of  the  second  course. 

No  particular  attention  was  paid  to  Mr.  Desmond  Mulligan. 
Political  enthusiasm  is  his  forte.  He  lives  and  writes  in  a  rap- 
ture. He  is,  of  course,  a  member  of  an  inn  of  court,  and 
greatly  addicted  to  after-dinner  speaking  as  a  preparation  for 
the  bar,  where  as  a  .young  man  of  genius  he  hopes  one  day  to 
shine.  He  is  almost  the  only  man  to  whom  Bludyer  is  civil,  for, 
if  the  latter  will  fight  doggedly  when  there  is  a  necessit}'  for  so 
doing,  the  former  fights  like  an  Irishman,  and  has  a  pleasure  in 
it.  He  has  been  on  the  ground"  1  don't  know  how  many 
times,  and  quitted  his  country  on  account  of  a  quarrel  with 
Government  regarding  certain  articles  published  by  him  in  the 
Phoenix  newspaper.  With  the  third  bottle,  he  becomes  over- 
poweringly  great  on  the  wrongs  of  Ireland,  and  at  that  period 
generally  volunteers  a  couple  or  more  of  Irish  melodies,  select- 
ing the  most  melancholy  in  the  collection.  At  five  in  the  after- 
noon, you  are  sure  to  see  him  about  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  he  knows  the  Reform  Club"  (he  calls  it  the  Refawrum) 
as  well  as  if  he  were  a  member.  It  is  curious  for  the  contem- 
plative mind  to  mark  those  mysterious  hangers-on  of  Irish 
members  of  parhament  —  strange  runners  and  aides-de-camp 
which  all  the  honorable  gentlemen  appear  to  possess.  Des- 
mond, in  his  political  capacity,  is  one  of  these,  and  besides  his 
calling  as  reporter  to  a  newspaper,  is  our  well-informed  cor- 
respondent" of  that  famous  Munster  paper,  the  Green  Flag  of 
Skibhereen . 

With  Mr.  Mulligan's  quaUties  and  history  I  only  became 
subsequently  acquainted.  On  the  present  evening  he  made  but 
a  brief  stay  at  the  dinner-table,  being  compelled  by  his  profes- 
sional duties  to  attend  the  House  of  Commons. 

The  above  formed  the  party  with  whom  I  had  the  honor  to 
dine.  What  other  repasts  Sir  George  Thrum  may  have  given, 
what  assemblies  of  men  of  mere  science  he  may  have  invited 


212 


MEN^S  WIVES. 


to  give  their  opinion  regarding  his  prodig}^  what  other  editors 
of  papers  he  ma}'  have  pacified  or  rendered  favorable,  who 
knows?  On  the  present  occasion,  we  did  not  quit  the  dinner- 
table  until  Mr.  Slang  the  manager  was  considerably  excited  by 
wine,  and  music  had  been  heard  for  some  time  in  the  drawing- 
room  overhead  during  our  absence.  An  addition  had  been 
made  to  the  Thrum  party  by  the  arrival  of  several  persons  to 
spend  the  evening,  —  a  man  to  play  on  the  violin  between  the 
singing,  a  youth  to  play  on  the  piano,  Miss  Horsman  to  sing 
with  Mrs.  Walker  and  other  scientific  characters.  In  -a  corner 
sat  a  red-faced  old  lady,  of  whom  the  mistress  of  the  mansion 
took  little  notice  ;  and  a  gentleman  with  a  roj'al  button,  who 
blushed  and  looked  exceedingl}'  modest. 

''Hang  me!"  says  Mr.  Bludyer,  who  had  perfectly  good 
reasons  for  recognizing  Mr.  Woolsey,  and  who  on  this  day 
chose  to  assume  his  aristocratic  air;  ''there's  a  tailor  in  the 
room !  What  do  they  mean  by  asking  me  to  meet  trades- 
men ?  " 

"Delanc}^  my  dear,"  cries  Slang,  entering  the  room  with 
a  reel,  "how's  your  precious  health?  Give  us  your  hand  I 
When  are  we  to  be  married?  Make  room  for  me  on  the  sofa, 
that's  a  duck  !  " 

"Get  along.  Slang,"  says  Mrs.  Crump,  addressed  b}^  the 
manager  by  her  maiden  name  (artists  generally  drop  the  title 
of  honor  which  people  adopt  in  the  world,  and  call  each  other 
by  their  simple  surnames)  —  "get  along,  Slang,  or  I'll  tell 
Mrs.  S.  !  "  The  enterprising  manager  replies  by  sportively 
striking  Mrs.  Crump  on  the  side  a  blow  which  causes  a  great 
giggle  from  the  lady  insulted,  and  a  most  good-humored  threat 
to  box  Slang's  ears.  I  fear  very  much  that  Morgiana's  mother 
thought  Mr.  Slang  an  exceedingly  gentlemanlike  and  agreeable 
person  ;  besides,  she  was  eager  to  have  his  good  opinion  of 
Mrs.  Walker's  sino;ino;. 

The  manager  stretched  himself  out  with  much  gracefulness 
on  the  sofa,  supporting  two  little  dumpy  legs  encased  in  var- 
nished boots  on  a  chair. 

"  Ajax,  some  tea  to  Mr.  Slang,"  said  m}^  lady,  looking 
towards  that  gentleman  with  a  countenance  expressive  of  some 
alarm,  I  thought. 

"That's  right,  Ajax,  my  black  prince!"  exclaimed  Slang, 
when  the  negro  brought  tlie  required  refreshment ;  "  and  now 
1  suppose  3'ou'll  be  wanted  in  the  orchestra  yonder.  Don't 
Ajax  play  the  cymbals.  Sir  George?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  very  good  —  capital!"  answered  the  knight, 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


213 


exceedingly  frightened;  ''but  ours  is  not  a  military  band. 
Miss  Horsman,  Mr.  Craw,  my  dear  Mrs.  Ravenswing,  shall 
we  begin  the  trio?  Silence,  gentlemen,  if  you  please,  it  is  a 
little  piece  from  my  opera  of  the  •  Brigand's  Bride.'  Miss 
Horsman  takes  the  Page's  part,  Mr.  Craw  is  Stiletto  the  Brig- 
and, my  accomplished  pupil  is  the  Bride ; "  and  the  music 
began. 

"  The  Bride. 
"  My  heart  with  joy  is  beating, 
My  eyes  with  tears  are  dim; 

"  The  Page. 
"  Her  heart  with  joy  is  beating, 
Her  eyes  are  fixed  on  him ; 

"  The  Brigand. 
"  My  heart  with  rage  is  beating, 
In  blood  my  eyeballs  swim !  " 

What  may  have  been  th^  mevits  of  the  music  or  the  singing, 
I,  of  course,  cannot  guess.  Lady  Thrum  sat  opposite  the  tea- 
cups, nodding  her  head  and  beating  time  very  gravely.  Lord 
Roundtowers,  by  her  side,  nodded  his  head  too,  for  a  while, 
and  then  fell  asleep.  I  should  have  done  the  same  but  for  the 
manager,  whose  actions  were  worthy  of  remark.  He  sang 
with  all  the  three  singers,  and  a  great  deal  louder  than  any  of 
them  ;  he  shouted  bravo  !  or  hissed  as  he  thought  proper ;  he 
criticised  all  the  points  of  Mrs.  Walker's  person.  •'  She'll  do, 
Crump,  she'll  do  —  a  splendid  arm  —  you'll  see  her  eyes  in  the 
shilling  gallery  !  What  sort  of  a  foot  has  she  ?  She's  five 
feet  three,  if  she's  an  inch  !  Bravo  —  slap  up  —  capital  — 
hurra ! "  and  he  concluded  by  saying,  with  the  aid  of  the 
Ravenswing,  he  would  put  Ligonier's  nose  out  of  joint ! 

The  enthusiasm  of  Mr.  Slang  almost  reconciled  Lady  Thrum 
to  the  abruptness  of  his  manners,  and  even  caused  Sir  George 
to  forget  that  his  chorus  had  been  interrupted  b}'  the  obstreper- 
ous familiarity  of  the  manager. 

''And  what  do  you  think,  Mr.  Bludyer,"  said  the  tailor, 
delighted  that  his  protegee  should  be  thus  winning  all  hearts, 
"  isn't  Mrs.  Walker  a  tip-top  singer,  eh,  sir?" 

''I  think  she's  a  very  bad  one,  Mr.  Woolse}' :  "  said  the 
illustrious  author,  wishing  to  abbreviate  all  communications 
with  a  tailor  to  whom  he  owed  fort}'  pounds. 

"Then,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Woolsey,  fiercely,  'Til  — I'll  thank 
3'ou  to  pay  me  my  little  bill !  " 


214 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


It  is  true  there  was  no  connection  between  Mrs.  Walker's 
singing  and  Woolsey's  little  bill;  that  the  Then^  sir/'  was 
perfectly  illogical  on  Woolsey's  part ;  but  it  was  a  verj^  happy 
hit  for  the  future  fortunes  of  Mrs.  Walker.  Who  knows  what 
would  have  come  of  her  debut  but  for  that  '^Then,  sir,"  and 
whether  a  ''smashing  article"  from  the  Tomahawk  might  not 
have  ruined  her  for  ever? 

''Are  you  a  relation  of  Mrs.  W^alker's?"  said  Mr.  Bludyer, 
in  reph^  to  the  angry  tailor. 

"What's  that  to  you,  whether  I  am  or  not?"  replied 
Woolsey,  fiercely.  "But  I'm  the  friend  of  Mrs.  Walker,  sir; 
proud  am  I  to  say  so,  sir ;  and,  as  the  poet  says,  sir,  '  a  little 
learning's  a  dangerous  thing,'  sir ;  and  I  think  a  man  who 
don't  pay  his  bills  may  keep  his  tongue  quiet  at  least,  sir,  and 
not  abuse  a  lady,  sir,  whom  everybody  else  praises,  sir.  You 
shan't  humbug  me  any  more,  sir ;  you  shall  hear  from  my 
attorney  to-morrow,  so  mark  that ! " 

"Hush,  ni}^  dear  Mr.  Woolsey,"  cried  the  literary  man, 
"  don't  make  a  noise  ;  come  into  this  window  :  is  Mrs.  Walker 
really  a  friend  of  3'ours  ?  " 

"  I've  tokl  you  so,  sir." 

"Well,  in  that  case,  I  shall  do  my  utmost  to  serve  her; 
and,  look  3^ou,  Woolse}',  any  article  3^ou  choose  to  send  about 
her  to  the  Tomahawk  I  promise  you  I'll  put  in." 

"  Will  3^ou,  though?  then  we'll  say  nothing  about  the  little 
bill." 

"  You  may  do  on  that  point,"  answered  Bludyer,  haughtily, 
"  exactl}^  as  3'ou  please.  I  am  not  to  be  frightened  from  my 
dut\^  mind  that ;  and  mind,  too,  that  I  can  write  a  slashing 
article  better  than  any  man  in  England  :  I  could  crush  her  by 
ten  lines." 

The  tables  were  now  turned,  and  it  was  Woolsey's  turn  to 
be  alarmed. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  I  loas  angr}',"  said  he,  "  because  3^ou  abused 
Mrs.  Walker,  who's  an  angel  on  earth  ;  but  I'm  very  willing  to 
apologize.  I  sa}^  —  come  —  let  me  take  your  measure  for  some 
new  clothes,  eh  !  Mr.  B.  ?" 

"  I'll  come  to  your  sliop,"  answered  the  literar}^  man,  quite 
appeased.    "  Silence  !  they're  beginning  another  song." 

The  songs,  which  I  don't  attempt  to  describe  (and,  upon 
my  word  and  honor,  as  far  as  /  can  understand  matters,  I 
believe  to  this  day  tliat  Mrs.  Walker  was  only  an  oi'dinary 
sing(u*),  —  th(i  songs  lasted  a  gn^at  deal  longer  than  I  liked; 
but  I  was  nailed,  as  it  were,  to  the  spot,  having  agreed  to  sup 


THE  RAVENS  WING. 


215 


at  Knightsbridge  barracks  with  Fitz-Urse,  whose  carriage  was 
ordered  at  eleven  o'clock. 

M3'  dear  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle,"  said  our  old  host  to  me,  "you 
can  do  me  the  greatest  service  in  the  world.'' 
"  Speak,  sir  !  "  said  I. 

Will  3^ou  ask  your  honorable  and  gallant  friend,  the  Cap- 
tain, to  drive  home  Mr.  Squinny  to  Brompton?  " 

Can't  Mr.  Squinny  get  a  cab?" 
Sir  George  looked  particularly  arch.  "  Generalship,  my 
dear  young  friend, — a  Httle  harmless  generalship.  Mr. 
Squinny  will  not  give  much  for  my  opinion  of  my  [)upil,  but  he 
wifl  value  very  highly  the  opinion  of  the  Plonorable  Mr.  Fitz- 
Urse." 

For  a  moral  man,  was  not  the  httle  knight  a  clever  fellow? 
He  had  bought  Mr.  Squinny  for  a  dinner  worth  ten  shillings, 
and  for  a  ride  in  a  carriage  with  a  lord's  son.  Squinny  was 
carried  to  Brompton,  and  set  down  at  his  aunt's  door,  delighted 
with  his  new  friends,  and  exceedingly  sick  with  a  cigar  they 
had  made  him  smoke. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

IN  WHICH  MR.  WALKER  SHOWS  GREAT  PRUDENCE  AND  FOR- 
BEARANCE. 

The  describing  of  all  these  persons  does  not  advance  Morgi- 
ana's  story  much.  But,  perhaps,  some  country  readers  are  not 
acquainted  with  the  class  of  persons  by  whose  printed  opinions 
the}^  are  guided,  and  are  simple  enough  to  imagine  that  mere 
merit  will  make  a  reputation  on  the  stage  or  elsewhere.  The 
making  of  a  theatrical  success  is  a  much  more  complicated  and 
curious  thing  than  such  persons  fancy  it  to  be.  Immense  are 
the  pains  taken  to  get  a  good  word  from  Mr.  This  of  the  ^Star^ 
or  Mr.  That  of  the  Courier^  to  propitiate  the  favor  of  the  critic 
of  the  da}',  and  get  the  editors  of  the  metropolis  into  a  good 
humor,  —  above  all,  to  have  the  name  of  the  person  to  be 
puffed  perpetually  before  the  public.  Artists  cannot  be  adver- 
tised like  Macassar  oil  or  blacking,  and  the}'  want  it  to  the  full 
as  much ;  hence  endless  ingenuity  must  be  practised  in  order 
to  keep  the  popular  attention  awake.  Suppose  a  great  actor 
moves  from  London  to  Windsor,  the  Brentford  Champion  must 


216 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


state,  that  "  Yesterda}^  Mr.  Blazes  and  suite  passed  rapidly 
through  our  cit}^ ;  the  celebrated  comedian  is  engaged,  we  hear, 
at  Windsor,  to  give  some  of  his  inimitable  readings  of  our 
great  national  bard  to  the  most  illustrious  avdience  in  the  realm." 
This  piece  of  intelligence  the  Hammersmith  Observer  will  ques- 
tion the  next  week,  as  thus:  —  ''A  contemporarj^,  the  Brent- 
ford Champion,  sa3  S  that  Blazes  is  engaged  to  give  Shakspearean 
readings  at  Windsor  to  '  the  most  illustrious  audience  in  the 
realm.'  We  question  this  fact  very  much.  We  would,  indeed, 
that  it  were  true  ;  but  the  most  illustrious  audience  in  the  realm 
prefer  foreign  melodies  to  tJte  native  wood-notes  wild  of  the  song- 
bird of  Avon.  Mr.  Blazes  is  simph'  gone  to  Eton,  where  his 
son,  Master  Massinger  Blazes,  is  sutfering,  we  regret  to  hear, 
under  a  severe  attack  of  the  chicken-pox.  This  complaint 
(incident  to  3'outh)  has  raged,  we  understand,  with  frightful 
virulence  in  Eton  School." 

And  if,  after  the  above  paragraphs,  some  London  paper 
chooses  to  attack  the  folly  of  the  provincial  press,  which  talks 
of  Mr.  Blazes,  and  chronicles  his  movements,  as  if  he  were  a 
crowned  head,  what  harm  is  done?  Blazes  can  write  in  his  own 
name  to  the  London  journal  and  say  that  it  is  not  his  fault  if 
provincial  journals  choose  to  chronicle  his  movements,  and  that 
he  was  far  from  wishing  that  the  afflictions  of  those  who  are 
dear  to  him  should  form  the  subject  of  public  comment,  and  be 
held  up  to  public  ridicule.  We  had  no  intention  of  hurting 
the  feelings  of  an  estimable  public  servant,"  writes  the  editor ; 
''and  our  remarks  on  the  chicken-pox  were  general,  not  per- 
sonal. We  sincerely  trust  that  Master  Massinger  Blazes  has 
recovered  from  that  complaint,  and  that  he  may  pass  through 
the  measles,  the  whooping-cough,  the  fourth  form,  and  all  other 
diseases  to  which  youth  is  subject,  with  comfort  to  himself,  and 
credit  to  his  parents  and  teachers."  At  his  next  appearance 
on  the  stage  after  this  controversy,  a  British  public  calls  for 
Blazes  three  times  after  the  play  ;  and  somehow  there  is  sure  to 
be  some  one  with  a  laurel-wreath  in  a  stage-box,  who  flings  that 
chaplet  at  the  inspired  artist's  feet. 

1  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  before  that  dehut  of  Morgiana, 
the  F^nglisli  press  began  to  heave  and  throb  in  a  convulsive 
manner,  as  if  indicative  of  the  near  birth  of  some  great  thing. 
For  instance,  you  read  in  one  paper,  — 

"  Anfrdofp  of  Karl  Maria  Von  Wehcr.  —  When  the  autlior  of  Oheron  was 
in  England,  ho  was  invited  l)y  a  noble  duke  to  (Hiiner,  and  some  of  the 
most  celebrated  of  our  artists  were  assembled  to  meet  hiui.  The  signal  be- 
ing given  to  descend  to  the  saUe-a-iuanger,  the  German  composer  was  invited 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


217 


by  his  noble  host  (a  bachelor)  to  lead  the  way.  it  not  the  fashion  in 
your  country/  said  he,  simply,  *  for  the  man  of  the  first  eminence  to  take 
the  first  place  ?  Here  is  one  wliose  genius  entitles  him  to  be  first  anywhere* 
And,  so  saying,  he  pointed  to  our  admirable  Englisli  composer,  Sir  George 
Thrum.  The  two  musicians  were  friends  to  the  last,  and  Sir  George  lias 
still  the  identical  piece  of  rosin  which  the  author  of  the  Freischutz  gave 
him.'' —  The  Moon  (morning  paper),  2d  June. 

George  ITT.  a  composer. —  Sir  George  Thrum  has  in  his  possession  the 
score  of  an  air,  the  words  from  Samson  Ayonlstes,  an  autograph  of  the  late 
revered  monarch.  We  hear  that  that  excellent  composer  has  in  store  for 
us  not  only  an  opera,  but  a  pupil,  with  whoso  transcendent  merits  the 
elite  of  our  aristocracy  are  already  familiar."  —  Thid.  June  5. 

"  Music  with  a  Vengeance.  —  The  march  to  the  sound  of  which  the  49th 
and  75th  regiments  rushed  up  the  breach  of  Badajoz  was  the  celebrated 
air  from  Britons  Alarmed;  or,  the  Siege  of  T^er gen-op -Zoom,  by  our  famous 
English  composer,  Sir  George  Thrum.  Marshal  Davoust  said  that  the 
French  line  never  stood  when  that  air  was  performed  to  the  charge  of  the 
bayonet.  We  hear  the  veteran  musician  has  an  opera  now  about  to  ap- 
pear, and  have  no  doubt  that  Old  England  will  now,  as  then,  show  its 
superiority  over  all  foreign  opponents."  —  Albion. 

"We  have  been  accused  of  preferring  the  produit  of  the  etranger  to  the 
talent  of  our  own  native  shores ;  but  those  who  speak  so,  little  know  us. 
We  are  fanatici  per  la  musica.  wherever  it  be,  and  welcome  merit  dans  chaque 
pags  du  monde.  What  do  we  sa;f  ?  Le  merite  n'a  point  de  pays,  as  Napoleon 
said;  and  Sir  George  Thrum  (Chevalier  de  I'ordre  de  Elephant  et  Chateau, 
de  Panama)  is  a  maestro  whose  fame  appartient  a  V Europe. 

"  We  have  just  heard  the  lovely  eleve,  whose  rare  qualities  the  cava- 
liere  has  brought  to  perfection,  —  We  have  heard  The  Ravensaving 
{ponrquoi  cacher  un  nom  que  demain  un  monde  va  saluer),  and  a  creature  more 
beautiful  and  gifted  never  bloomed  before  dans  nos  climats.  She  sang  the 
delicious  duet  of  the  '  Nabucodonosore,'  with  Count  Pizzicato  with  a  hd- 
ezza,  a  grandezza,  a  raggio,  that  excited  in  the  bosom  of  the  audience  a  cor- 
responding ^wj^ore :  her  sckerzando  was  exquisite,  though  we  confess  we 
thought  the  concluding^o?7i^Mra  in  the  passage  in  y  flat  a  leetle,  a  very  lee- 
tle  sforzata.    Surely  the  words, 

'  Giorno  d'orrore, 
Delire,  dolore, 
Nabucodonosore,' 

should  be  given  andante,  and  not  con  strepito:  but  this  is  a  favte  hien  legere  in 
the  midst  of  such  unrivalled  excellence,  and  only  mentioned  here  that  we 
may  have  something  to  criticise. 

"  We  hear  that  the  enterprising  impresario  of  one  of  the  royal  theatres 
has  made  an  engagement  w^ith  the  Diva;  and,  if  we  have  a  regret,  it  is  that 
she  should  be  compelled  to  sing  in  the  unfortunate  language  of  our  rude 
northern  clime,  which  does  not  prcter  itself  near  so  well,  to  the  bocca  of  the 
cantatrice  as  do  the  mellifluous  accents  of  the  Lingua  Toscana,  the  langue 
par  excellence  of  song. 

"  The  Ravenswing's  voice  is  a  magnificent  contra-basso  of  nine  octaves." 
&c.  —  Flowers  of  Fashion^  June  10. 


218  MEN'S  WIVES. 

"Old  Thrum,  the  composer,  is  bringing  out  an  opera  and  a  pupil.  The 
onera  is  ffood  the  pupil  first-rate.  Tlie  opera  will  do  much  more  than  com- 
p^te  wurthe  in?e?nal  twaddle  and  disgusting  slip-slop  of  ^omzetti,  and 
the  milk-and-water  fools  who  imitate  him  :  it  wdl  (and  we  ask  the  readers 
Tthe  Tomaha^ok,^vere  we  ever  mistaken  surpass  all  hese  ;  it  is  good, 
of  downright  English  stuff.  The  airs  are  fresh  and  pleasmg,  the  choruses 
large  ind  noble,  the  instrumentation  solid  and  rich,  the  music  is  carefully 
written.    We  wish  old  Thrum  and  his  opera  well.  ,    a  a  ■ 

"  His  pupil  is  a  SURE  CARD,  a  splendid  woman,  and  a  splendid  singer. 
She  is  so  ha  idsome  that  she  might  sing  as  much  out  of  tune  as  Miss  Ligo- 
nier,  and  the  public  would  forgive  her ;  and  sings  so  7^"' J^^-^.^^Va 
iip-iv  as  the  aforesaid  Ligoiiier,  the  audience  would  listen  to  her  The  Ka- 
ven^w  nfthat  is  her  fantastical  theatrical  name  (her  real  name  is  the  same 
wi  rthat  of  a  notorious  scoundrel  in  tlie  Fleet,  who  invented  the  Panama 
w  Idle!  the  Pontine  Marshes'  swindle,  the  soap  swindle  -^oh, 
forsoan  now  Mr.  W-lk-r^  — the  Ravenswing,  we  say,  will  do.  blang  has 
en/aZl  S  at  thirty  guineas  per  week,  and  she  appears  next  month  in 
Sm's  opera,  of  which  tlie  words  are  written  by  a  great  ass  with  some 

foipnt  WO  mean  Mr.  Mulligan.  ,    .    -,  .  1-1,1. 

".There  is  a  foreign  fool  Tn  the  Flowers  of  Fashion  who  is  doing  his  best 
to  disgust  the  publicly  his  filthy  flattery.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  sick. 
Why  fs  the  foreign  beast  not  kicked  out  of  the  paper  -  Tfe  Tomahawk, 
June  17. 

The  three  first  "  anecdotes"  were  supplied  by  Mulligan  to 
his  paper,  with  many  others  which  need  not  here  be  repeated: 
he  kept  them  up  with  amazing  energy  and  variety.  Anecdotes 
of  Sir  George  Thrum  met  vou  unexpectedly  in  queer  corners  ot 
country  papers  :  puffs  of  the  English  school  of  music  appeared 
nerpetually  in  "  notices  to  correspondents  m  the  Sunday 
prints,  some  of  which  Mr.  Slang  commanded,  and  in  othei^ 
over  which  the  indefatigable  Mulligan  had  a  control.  I  his  youth 
was  the  soul  of  the  little  conspiracy  for  raising  Morgiana  into 
fame  :  and  humble  as  he  is,  and  great  and  respectable  as  is  Sir 
George  Thrum,  it  is  my  belief  that  the  Ravenswing  would  never 
have  been  the  Ravenswing  she  is  but  for  the  ingenuity  and 
energy  of  the  honest  Hibernian  reporter.  _  ,  , 

It  is  only  the  business  of  the  great  man  who  writes  the  lead- 
m<r  articles"  which  appear  in  the  large  type  of  the  daily  papers 
to  compose  those  astonishing  pieces  of  eloquence ;  tlie  other 
parts  of  the  paper  are  left  to  the  ingenuity  of  the  sub-editor, 
whose  duty  it  is  to  select  paragraphs,  reject  or  receive  horrid 
accidents,  police  reports,  &c.  ;  with  which,  occupied  as  he  is 
in  the  exercise  of  his  tremendous  functions,  the  editor  himselt 
cannot  be  expected  to  meddle.  Tlie  fotc  of  Europe  is  his  prov- 
ince ;  the  rise  and  fidl  of  empires,  and  the  great  questions  ot 
State  demand  the  editor's  attention  :  the  humble  puff,  the  para- 
graph about  the  last  murder,  or  the  state  of  the  crops,  or  tlie 
lewers  in  Chancery  Lane,  is  coniided  to  the  care  of  the  sub. , 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


219 


and  it  is  curious  to  see  what  a  prodigious  number  of  Irishmen 
exist  among:  the  sub-editors  of  London.  When  the  Liberator 
enumerates  the  services  of  his  countrymen,  how  the  battle  of 
Fontenoy  was  won  b}'  the  Irish  Brigade,  how  the  battle  of  Water- 
loo would  have  been  lost  but  for  the  Irish  regiments,  and  enu- 
merates other  acts  for  which  we  are  indebted  to  Milesian  heroism 
and  genius,  —  he  ought  at  least  to  mention  the  Irish  brigade  of 
the  press,  and  the  amazing  services  they  do  to  this  country. 

The  truth  is,  the  Irish  reporters  and  soldiers  appear  to  do 
their  daty  right  well ;  and  my  friend  Mr.  MuUigan  is  one  of  the 
former.  Having  the  interests  of  his  opera  and  the  Ravenswing 
strongly  at  heart,  and  being  amongst  his  brethren  an  exceed- 
ingly popular  fellow,  he  managed  matters  so  that  never  a  day 
passed  but  some  paragraph  appeared  somewhere  regarding 
the  new  singer,  in  whom,  for  their  countryman's  sake,  all  his 
brothers  and  sub-editors  felt  an  interest. 

These  puffs,  destined  to  make  known  to  all  the  world  the 
merits  of  the  Ravenswing,  of  course  had  an  effect  upon  a  gen- 
tleman very  closel}^  connected  with  that  lady,  the  respectable 
prisoner  in  the  Fleet,  Captain  Walker.  As  long  as  he  received 
his  weekly  two  guineas  from  Mr.  Woolsey,  and  the  occasional 
half-crowns  which  his  wife  could  spare  in  her  almost  daily  visits 
to  him,  he  had  never  troubled  himself  to  inquire  what  her  pur- 
suits were,  and  had  allowed  her  (though  the  worth}"  woman 
longed  with  all  her  might  to  betra}"  herself)  to  keep  her  secret. 
He  was  far  from  thinking  indeed,  that  his  wife  would  prove 
such  a  treasure  to  him. 

But  when  the  voice  of  fame  and  the  columns  of  the  public 
journals  brought  him  each  day  some  new  story  regarding  the 
merits,  genius,  and  beaut}"  of  the  Ravenswing ;  when  rumors 
reached  him  that  she  was  the  favorite  pupil  of  Sir  George 
Thrum  ;  when  she  brought  him  five  guineas  after  singing  at  the 
Philharmonic"  (other  five  the  good  soul  had  spent  in  purchas- 
ing some  smart  new  cockades,  hats,  cloaks,  and  laces,  for  her 
little  son)  ;  when,  finally,  it  was  said  that  Slang,  the  great 
manager,  offered  her  an  engagement  at  thirty  guineas  per  week, 
Mr.  Walker  became  exceeding!}'  interested  in  his  wife's  proceed- 
ings, of  which  he  demanded  from  her  the  fullest  explanation. 

Using  his  marital  authority,  he  absolutely  forbade  Mrs. 
Walker's  appearance  on  the  public  stage  ;  he  wrote  to  Sir 
George  Thrum  a  letter  expressive  of  his  highest  indignation  that 
negotiations  so  important  should  ever  have  been  commenced 
without  his  authorization ;  and  he  wrote  to  his  dear  Slang  (for 
these  gentlemen  were  very  intimate,  and  in  the  course  of  his 


220 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


transactions  as  an  agent  Mr.  W.  had  had  many  dealings  with 
Mr.  S.)  asking  his  dear  Slang  whether  the  latter  thought  his 
friend  Walker  would  be  so  green  as  to  allow  his  wife  to  appear 
on  the  stage,  and  he  remain  in  prison  with  all  his  debts  on  his 
head  ? 

And  it  was  a  curious  thing  now  to  behold  how  eager  those 
very  creditors  who  but  yesterday  (and  with  perfect  correctness) 
had  denounced  Mr.  Walker  as  a  swindler ;  who  had  refused  to 
come  to  any  composition  with  him,  and  had  sworn  never  to  re- 
lease him  ;  how  they  on  a  sudden  became  quite  eager  to  come 
to  an  arrangement  with  him,  and  offered,  na}^  begged  and 
prayed  him  to  go  free, — only  giving  them  his  own  and  Mrs. 
Walker's  acknowledgment  of  their  debt,  with  a  promise  that  a 
part  of  the  lad3''s  salary  should  be  devoted  to  the  payment  of 
the  claim. 

The  lady's  salary  !  "  said  Mr.  Walker,  indignantly,  to  these 
gentlemen  and  their  attorneys.  "  Do  3'ou  suppose  I  will  allow 
Mrs.  Walker  to  go  on  the  stage?  —  do  3'ou  suppose  I  am  such 
a  fool  as  to  sign  bills  to  the  full  amount  of  these  claims  against 
me,  when  in  a  few  months  more  I  can  walk  out  of  prison  with- 
out paying  a  shilling?  Gentlemen,  vou  take  Howard  Walker 
for  an  idiot.  I  like  the  Fleet,  and  rather  than  paj^  I'll  stay  here 
for  these  ten  3'ears." 

In  other  words,  it  was  the  Captain's  determination  to  make 
some  advantageous  bargain  for  himself  with  his  creditors  and 
the  gentlemen  who  were  interested  in  bringing  forward  Mrs. 
Walker  on  the  stage.  And  who  can  say  that  in  so  determining 
he  did  not  act  with  laudable  prudence  and  justice? 

''You  do  not,  surely,  consider,  m}'  very  dear  sir,  that  half 
the  amount  of  Mrs.  Walker's  salaries  is  too  much  for  my  im- 
mense trouble  and  pains  in  teaching  her?"  cried  Sir  George 
Thrum  (who,  in  reply  to  Walker's  note,  thought  it  most  prudent 
to  wait  personally  on  that  gentleman) .  Remember  that  I  am 
the  first  master  in  England  ;  that  I  have  the  best  interest  in 
England  ;  that  I  can  bring  her  out  at  the  Palace,  and  at  every 
concert  and  musical  festival  in  p]ngland  ;  that  I  am  obliged  to 
teach  her  every  single  note  that  she  utters  ;  and  that  without 
me  she  could  no  more  sing  a  song  than  her  little  baby  could 
walk  without  its  nurse." 

"  I  believe  about  half  what  you  say,"  said  Mr.  Walker. 
My  dear  Captain  Walker !  would  you  question  mj^  integ- 
rity?   Who  was  it  that  made  Mrs.  Millington's  fortune,  —  the 
celebrated  Mrs.  Millington,  who  has  now  got  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  ?    Who  was  it  that  brought  out  the  finest  tenor  in 


THE  RAVENSWJNG. 


221 


Europe,  Poppleton?  Ask  the  musical  world,  ask  those  great 
artists  themselves,  and  the}'  will  tell  you  they  owe  their  reputa- 
tion, their  fortune,  to  Sir  George  Thrum." 

It  is  very  likely,"  repUed  the  Captain,  coolly.  "  You  are 
a  good  master,  I  dare  say,  Sir  George  ;  but  I  am  not  going  to 
article  Mrs.  Walker  to  you  for  three  years,  and  sign  her  arti- 
cles in  the  Elect.  Mrs.  Walker  shan't  sing  till  I'm  a  free  man, 
that's  flat :  if  I  stay  here  till  you're  dead  she  shan't." 

Gracious  powers,  sir!"  exclaimed  Sir  George,  ''do  you 
expect  me  to  pa}^  your  debts  ?  " 

''Yes,  old  boy,"  answered  the  Captain,  "and  to  give  me 
something  handsome  in  hand,  too ;  and  that's  my  ultimatum  : 
and  so  I  wish  you  good  morning,  for  I'm  engaged  to  play  a 
match  at  tennis  below." 

This  little  interview  exceedingly  frightened  the  worthy  knight, 
who  went  home  to  his  lady  in  a  dehrious  state  of  alarm  occa- 
sioned by  the  audacity  of  Captain  Walker. 

Mr.  Slang's  interview  with  him  wa^  scarcely  more  satisfac- 
tory. He  owed,  he  said,  four  thousand  pounds.  His  creditors 
might  be  brought  to  compound  for  five  shillings  in  the  pound. 
He  would  not  consent  to  allow  his  wife  to  make  a  single  engage- 
ment until  the  creditors  were  satisfied,  and  until  he  had  a  hand- 
some sum  in  hand  to  begin  the  world  with.  "  Unless  my  wife 
comes  out,  you'll  be  in  the  Gazette  yourself,  you  know  you  will. 
So  you  ma}'  take  her  or  leave  her,  as  you  think  fit." 

"  Let  her  sing  one  night  as  a  trial,"  said  Mr.  Slang. 

"  If  she  sings  one  night,  the  creditors  will  want  their  money 
in  full,"  replied  the  Captain.  "I  shan't  let  her  labor,  poor 
thing,  for  the  profit  of  those  scoundrels  !  "  added  the  prisoner, 
with  much  feeling.  And  Slang  left  him  with  a  much  greater 
respect  for  Walker  than  he  had  ever  before  possessed.  He  was 
struck  with  the  gallantry  of  the  man  who  could  triumph  over 
misfortunes,  nay,  make  misfortune  itself  an  engine  of  good  luck. 

Mrs.  Walker  was  instructed  instantly  to  have  a  severe  sore 
throat.  The  journals  in  Mr.  Slang's  interest  deplored  this 
illness  pathetically ;  while  the  papers  in  the  interest  of  the 
opposition  theatre  magnified  it  with  great  malice.  "The  new 
singer,"  said  one,  "  the  great  wonder  which  Slang  promised  us, 
is  as  hoarse  as  a  raven  "Dr.  Thorax  pronounces,"  wrote 
another  paper,  "  that  the  quinsy,  which  has  suddenly  prostrated 
Mrs.  Ravenswing,  whose  singing  at  the  '  Philharmonic,'  previous 

to  her  appearance  at  the  '  T.  R  ,'  excited  so  much  applause, 

has  destroyed  the  ladj-'s  voice  for  ever.  We  luckily  need  no 
other  prima  dofina,  wiien  that  place,  as  nightly  thousands  ac- 


222 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


knowledge,  is  held  by  Miss  Ligonier.''  The  Looker-on  said, 
"That  although  some  well-informed  contemporaries  had  declared 
Mrs.  W.  Ravenswing's  complaint  to  be  a  quinsy,  others,  on 
whose  authority  they  could  equally  rely,  had  pronounced  it  to 
be  a  consumption.  At  all  events,  she  was  in  an  exceedingly 
dangerous  state  ;  from  which,  though  we  do  not  expect,  we 
heartily  trust  she  may  recover.  Opinions  differ  as  to  the  merits 
of  this  lady,  some  saying  that  she  was  altogether  inferior  to 
Miss  Ligonier,  while  other  connoisseurs  declare  the  latter  lady 
to  be  by  no  means  so  accomplished  a  person.  This  point,  we 
fear,"  continued  the  Looker-on^  ''can  never  now  be  settled; 
unless,  which  we  fear  is  improbable,  Mrs.  Ravenswing  should 
ever  so  far  recover  as  to  be  able  to  make  her  dehnt ;  and  even 
then,  the  new  singer  will  not  have  a  fair  chance  unless  her 
voice  and  strength  shall  be  fully  restored.  This  information, 
which  we  have  from  exclusive  resources,  may  be  relied  on," 
concluded  the  Looker-on^     as  authentic." 

It  was  Mr.  Walker  himself,  that  artful  and  audacious  Fleet 
prisoner,  wiio  concocted  those  very  paragraphs  against  his 
wife's  health  which  appeared  in  the  journals  of  the  Ligonier 
party.  The  partisans  of  that  lad}'  were  delighted,  the  creditors 
of  Mr.  Walker  astounded,  at  reading  them.  Even  Sir  George 
Thrum  was  taken  in,  and  came  to  the  Fleet  Prison  in  consid- 
erable alarm. 

''  Mum's  the  word,  my  good  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Walker.  "  Now 
is  the  time  to  make  arrangements  with  the  creditors." 

Well,  these  arrangements  were  finally  made.  It  does  not 
matter  how  many  shillings  in  the  pound  satisfied  the  rapacious 
creditors  of  Morgiana's  husband.  But  it  is  certain  that  her 
voice  returned  to  her  all  of  a  sudden  upon  the  Captain's  release. 
The  papers  of  the  Mulligan  faction  again  trumpeted  her  perfec- 
tions ;  the  agreement  with  Mr.  Slang  was  concluded  ;  that  with 
Sir  George  Thrum  the  great  composer  satisfactorily  arranged  ; 
and  the  new  opera  underlined  in  immense  capitals  in  the  bills, 
and  put  in  rehearsal  with  immense  expenditure  on  the  part  of 
the  scene-painter  and  costumier. 

Need  we  tell  with  what  triumphant  success  the  "Brigand's 
Bride"  was  received?  All  the  Irish  sub-editors  the  next  morn- 
ing took  care  to  have  such  an  account  of  it  as  made  Miss  Ligo- 
nier and  Baroski  die  with  envy.  All  the  reporters  who  could 
spare  time  were  in  the  boxes  to  support  their  friend's  work. 
All  the  journeymen  tailors  of  the  establishment  of  Linse}', 
Woolsey,  and  Co.,  had  pit  tickets  given  to  them,  and  applauded 


THE  RAVEN  SWIXG. 


223 


with  all  their  might.  All  Mr.  Walker's  friends  of  th^  "  Regent 
Club "  lined  the  side-boxes  with  white  kid  gloves  ;  and  in  a 
little  box  by  themselves  sat  Mrs.  Crump  and  Mr.  Woolse^^, 
a  great  deal  too  much  agitated  to  applaud  —  so  agitated,  that 
Woolsey  even  forgot  to  fling  down  the  bouquet  he  had  brought 
for  the  Ravenswing. 

But  there  was  no  lack  of  those  horticultural  ornaments. 
The  theatre  servants  wheeled  awa}'  a  wheelbarrow-full  (which 
were  flung  on  the  stage  the  next  night  over  again)  ;  and  Mor- 
giana  blushing,  panting,  weeping,  was  led  off  by  Mr.  Popple- 
ton,  the  eminent  tenor,  who  had  crowned  her  with  one  of  the 
most  conspicuous  of  the  chaplets. 

Here  she  flew  to  her  husband,  and  flung  her  arms  round  his 
neck.  He  was  flirting  behind  the  side-scenes  with  Mademoiselle 
Flicflac,  who  had  been  dancing  in  the  divertissement ;  and  was 
probably  the  only  man  in  the  theatre  of  those  who  witnessed 
the  embrace  that  did  not  care  for  it.  Even  Slang  was  affected, 
and  said  with  perfect  sinceritj^,  that  he  wished  he  had  been  in 
Walker's  place.  The  manager's  fortune  was  made,  at  least  for 
the  season.  He  acknowledged  so  much  to  Walker,  who  took 
a  week's  salarj^  for  his  wife  in  advance  that  very  night. 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  grand  supper  in  the  green-room. 
The  terrible  Mr.  Blud3^er  appeared  in  a  new  coat  of  the  well- 
known  Woolsey  cut,  and  the  little  tailor  himself  and  Mrs. 
Crump  were  not  the  least  happy  of  the  party.  Rut  when  the 
Ravens  wing  took  Woolsey's  hand,  and  said  she  never  would 
have  been  there  but  for  him,  Mr.  Walker  looked  very  grave, 
and  hinted  to  her  that  she  must  not,  in  her  position,  encourage 
the  attentions  of  persons  in  that  rank  of  life.  I  shall  pay/' 
said  he,  proudly,  every  farthing  that  is  owing  to  Mr.  Woolse}', 
and  shall  employ  him  for  the  future.  But  3'ou  understand,  m}^ 
love,  that  one  cannot  at  one's  own  table  receive  one's  own 
tailor." 

Slang  proposed  Morgiana's  health  in  a  tremendous  speech, 
which  elicited  cheers,  and  laughter,  and  sobs,  such  as  only 
managers  have  the  art  of  drawing  from  the  theatrical  gentlemen 
and  ladies  in  their  employ.  It  was  observed,  especialh"  among 
the  chorus-singers  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  that  their  emotion 
was  intense.  They  had  a  meeting  the  next  da}'  and  voted  a 
piece  of  plate  to  Adolphus  Slang,  Esq.,  for  his  eminent  services 
in  the  cause  of  the  drama. 

Walker  returned  thanks  for  his  lad}'.  That  was,  he  said, 
the  proudest  moment  of  his  life.  He  was  proud  to  think  that 
he  had  educated  her  for  the  stage,  happy  to  think  that  his 


224 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


sufferings  had  not  been  in  vain,  and  that  his  exertions  in  her 
behalf  were  crowned  with  full  success.  In  her  name  and  his 
own  he  thanked  the  compan}^  and  sat  down,  and  was  once 
more  particularly  attentive  to  Mademoiselle  Flicflac. 

Then  came  an  oration  from  Sir  George  Thrum,  in  reply  to 
Slang's  toast  to  him.  It  was  very  much  to  the  same  effect  as 
the  speech  by  Walker,  the  two  gentlemen  attributing  to  them- 
selves individuall}'  the  merit  of  bringing  out  Mrs.  Walker.  He 
concluded  b}^  stating  that  he  should  always  hold  Mrs.  Walker 
as  the  daughter  of  his  heart,  and  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life 
should  love  and  cherish  her.  It  is  certain  that  Sir  George  was 
exceedingl}^  elated  that  night,  and  would  have  been  scolded 
by  his  lad}"  on  his  return  home,  but  for  the  triumph  of  the 
evening. 

Mulligan's  speech  of  thanks,  as  author  of  the  "Brigand's 
Bride,"  was,  it  must  be  confessed,  extremely"  tedious.  It  seemed 
there  would  be  no  end  to  it ;  when  he  got  upon  the  subject  of 
Ireland  especially,  which  somehow  was  found  to  be  intimately 
connected  with  the  interests  of  music  and  the  theatre.  Even 
the  choristers  pooh-poohed  tliis  speech,  coming  though  it  did 
from  the  successful  author,  whose  songs  of  wine,  love,  and 
battle,  they  had  been  repeating  that  night. 

The  "Brigand's  Bride"  ran  for  many  nights.  Its  choruses 
were  tuned  on  the  organs  of  the  day.  Morgiana's  airs,  "The 
Rose  upon  my  Balcony"  and  "  The  Lightning  on  the  Cataract" 
(recitative  and  scena)  were  on  everj^body's  hps,  and  brought 
so  many  guineas  to  Sir  George  Thrum  that  he  was  encouraged 
to  have  his  portrait  engraved,  which  still  ma}'  be  seen  in  the 
music  shops.  Not  many  persons,  I  believe,  bought  proof  im- 
pressions of  the  plate,  price  two  guineas ;  whereas,  on  the 
contrary,  all  the  young  clerks  in  banks,  and  all  the  fast  3'oung 
men  of  the  universities,  had  pictures  of  the  Ravenswing  in  their 
apartments  —  as  Biondetta  (the  brigand's  bride),  as  Zelyma 
(in  the  "  Nuptials  of  Benares"),  as  Barbareska  (in  the  "  Mine 
of  Tobolsk"),  and  in  all  her  famous  characters.  In  the  latter 
she  disguises  herself  as  an  Uhlan,  in  order  to  save  her  father, 
who  is  in  prison  ;  and  the  Ravens  wing  looked  so  fascinating 
in  this  costume  in  pantaloons  and  yellow  boots,  that  Slang  was 
for  having  her  instantly  in  Captain  Macheath,  whence  arose 
their  quarrel. 

She  was  replaced  at  Slang's  theatre  by  Snooks,  the  rhinoce- 
ros-tamer, with  his  breed  of  wild  buffaloes.  Their  success 
was  immense.  Slang  gave  a  supper,  at  which  all  the  company 
burst  into  te^trs ;  and  assembling  in  the  green-room  next  day, 


THE  RAVENSWING. 


225 


they,  as  usual,  voted  a  piece  of  plate  to  Adolphus  Slang,  Esq., 
for  his  eminent  services  to  the  drama. 

In  the  Captain  Macheath  dispute  Mr.  Walker  would  have 
had  his  wife  yield  ;  but  on  this  point,  and  for  once,  she  dis- 
obeyed her  husband  and  left  the  theatre.  And  when  Walker 
cursed  her  (according  to  his  wont)  for  her  abominable  selfish- 
ness and  disregard  of  his  property,  she  burst  into  tears  and  said 
she  had  spent  but  twent}'  guineas  on  herself  and  baby  during 
the  year,  that  her  theatrical  dressmaker's  bills  were  yet  unpaid, 
and  that  she  had  never  asked  him  how  much  he  spent  on  that 
odious  French  Jigurante , 

All  this  was  true,  except  about  the  French  Jigurante,  Walker, 
^  as  the  lord  and  master,  received  all  Morgiana's  earnings,  and 
spent  them  as  a  gentleman  should.  He  gave  ver}^  neat  dinners 
at  a  cottage  in  the  Regent's  Park  (Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walker  lived 
in  Green  Street,  Grosvenor  Square),  he  plaj'ed  a  good  deal  at 
the  Regent ;  "  but  as  to  the  French  Jigurante^  it  must  be  con- 
fessed,  that  Mrs.  Walker  was  in  a  sad  error :  (hat  lady  and  the 
Captain  had  parted  long  ago  ;  it  was  Madame  Dolores  de  Tras- 
os-Montes  who  inhabited  the  cottage  in  St.  John's  Wood  now. 

But  if  some  little  errors  of  this  kind  might  be  attributable  to 
the  Captain,  on  the  other  hand,  when  his  wife  was  in  the  prov- 
inces, he  was  the  most  attentive  of  husbands  ;  made  all  her 
bargains,  and  received  every  shilling  before  he  would  permit  her 
to  sing  a  note.  Thus  he  prevented  her  from  being  cheated, 
as  a  person  of  her  easy  temper  doubtless  would  have  been,  by 
designing  managers  and  need}^  concert-givers.  They  always 
travelled  with  four  horses  ;  and  Walker  was  adored  in  every  one 
of  the  principal  hotels  in  England.  The  waiters  flew  at  his 
bell.  The  chambermaids  were  afraid  he  was  a  sad  naught}^ 
man,  and  thought  his  wife  no  such  great  beauty  ;  the  landlords 
preferred  him  to  any  duke.  He  never  looked  at  their  bills,  not 
he !  In  fact  his  income  was  at  least  four  thousand  a  3'ear  for 
some  3'ears  of  his  life. 

Master  Woolse}^  Walker  was  put  to  Dr.  Wapshot's  seminar}', 
whence,  after  many  disputes  on  the  doctor's  part  as  to  getting 
his  half-year's  accounts  paid,  and  after  much  complaint  of  ill- 
treatment  on  the  httle  boy's  side,  he  was  withdrawn,  and  placed 
under  the  care  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Swishtail,  at  Turnham  Green  ; 
where  all  his  bills  are  paid  by  his  godfather,  now  the  head  of 
the  firm  of  Woolse}'  and  Co. 

As  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Walker  still  declines  to  see  him  ;  but 
he  has  not,  as  far  as  I  have  heard,  paid  the  sums  of  mone}" 
which  he  threatened  to  refund  ;  and,  as  he  is  seldom  at  home, 

15 


226 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


the  worthy  tailor  can  come  to  Green  Street  at  his  leisure.  He 
and  Mrs.  Crump,  and  Mrs,  Walker,  often  take  the  omnibus  to 
Brentford,  and  a  cake  with  them  to  little  Woolsej^  at  school ; 
to  whom  the  tailor  says  he  will  leave  ever}^  shilUng  of  his 
propert}^ 

The  Walkers  have  no  other  children  ;  but  when  she  takes 
her  airing  in  the  Park  she  always  turns  away  at  the  sight  of  a 
low  phaeton,  in  which  sits  a  woman  with  rouged  cheeks  and 
a  great  number  of  over-dressed  children  with  a  French  honne^ 
whose  name,  I  am  given  to  understand,  is  Madame  Dolores  de 
Tras-os-Montes.  Madame  de  Tras-os-Montes  alwaj^s  puts  a 
great  gold  glass  to  her  eye  as  the  Eavens wing's  carriage  passes, 
and  looks  into  it  with  a  sneer.  The  two  coachmen  used  always 
to  exchange  queer  winks  at  each  other  in  the  ring,  until  Madame 
de  Tras-os-Montes  lately  adopted  a  tremendous  chasseur,  with 
huge  whiskers  and  a  green  and  gold  liver}^ ;  since  which  time 
the  formerly  named  gentlemen  do  not  recognize  each  other. 

The  Ravenswing's  life  is  one  of  perpetual  triumph  on  the 
stage;  and,  as  every  one  of  the  fashionable  men  about  town 
have  been  in  love  with  her,  you  may  fancy  what  a  pretty  char- 
acter she  has.  Lad}^  Thrum  would  die  sooner  than  speak  to 
that  unhappy  3'oung  woman  ;  and,  in  fact,  the  Thrums  have  a 
new  pupil,  who  is  a  siren  without  the  dangerous  qualities  of 
one,  who  has  the  person  of  a  Venus  and  the  mind  of  a  muse, 
and  who  is  coming  out  at  one  of  the  theatres  immediately. 
Baroski  says,  De  liddle  Rafenschwing  is  just  as  font  of  me  as 
effer ! "  People  are  very  shy  about  receiving  her  in  societjM 
and  when  she  goes  to  sing  at  a  concert.  Miss  Prim  starts  up 
and  skurries  off  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  alarm,  lest  "that 
person  "  should  speak  to  her. 

Walker  is  voted  a  good,  easy,  rattUng,  gentlemanly  fellow, 
and  nobody's  enemy  but  his  own.  His  wife,  thc}^  sa}^,  is  dread- 
fully extravagant;  and,  indeed,  since  his  marriage,  and,  in 
spite  of  his  wife's  large  income,  he  has  been  in  the  Bench 
several  times  ;  but  she  signs  some  bills  and  he  comes  out  again, 
and  is  as  ga}^  and  genial  as  ever.  All  mercantile  speculations 
he  has  wisely  long  since  given  up  ;  he  likes  to  throw  a  main  of 
an  evening,  as  I  have  said,  and  to  take  his  couple  of  bottles  at 
dinner.  On  Frida}'  he  attends  at  the  theatre  for  his  wife's 
salary,  and  transacts  no  oth(ir  business  during  the  week.  He 
grows  exceedingl}'  stout,  dy(^s  his  hair,  and  has  a  bloated,  purple 
look  about  the  nose  and  cheeks,  very  different  from  tliat  which 
first  ctharmed  the  heart  of  Morgiana. 

By  the  way,  Eglantine  has  been  turned  out  of  the  Bower  of 


THE  RAVENSWT.VG. 


227 


Bloom,  and  now  keeps  a  shop  at  Timbridge  Wells.  Going  down 
thither  last  year  without  a  razor,  I  asked  a  fat,  seedy  man,  loll- 
ing in  a  faded  nankeen  jacket  at  the  door  of  a  tawdry  little  shop 
in  the  Pantiles,  to  shave  me.  He  said  in  reply,  Sir,  I  do  not 
practise  in  that  branch  of  the  profession  !  "  and  turned  back  into 
the  little  shop.  It  was  Archibald  Eglantine.  But  in  the  wreck 
of  his  fortunes,  he  still  has  his  captain's  uniform,  and  his  grand 
cross  of  the  order  of  the  Elephant  and  Castle  of  Panama. 


POSTSCRIPT. 


G.  riTZ-BOODLE,  ESQ.,  TO  O.  YORKE,  ESQ. 

ZuM  Trierischen  Hof,  Coblenz,  July  10,  1843. 

My  dear  Yorke,  —  The  story  of  the  Kavenswing  was  written  a  Ions: 
time  since,  and  I  never  could  account  for  the  bad  taste  of  the  publisliers  of 
the  metropolis  who  refused  it  an  insertion  in  their  various  magazines. 
This  fact  would  never  have  been  alluded  to  but  for  the  following  circum- 
stance :  — 

Only  yesterday,  as  I  was  dining  at  this  excellent  hotel,  I  remarked  a 
bald-headed  gentleman  in  a  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  who  looked  like 
a  colonel  on  lialf-pay,  and  by  his  side  a  lady  and  a  little  boy  of  twelve, 
whom  the  gentleman  was  cramming  with  an  amazing  quantity  of  cherries 
and  cakes.  A  stout  old  dame  in  a  wonderful  cap  and  ribbons  was  seated 
by  the  lady's  side,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  they  were  English,  and  I  thought 
I  had  already  made  tlieir  acquaintance  elsewhere. 

The  younger  of  the  ladies  at  last  made  a  bow  with  an  accompanying 
blush. 

"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  I  have  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Mrs.  Ravens- 
wing  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  WooLSEY,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  ;  "  my  wife  has  long  since 
left  the  stage  :  "  and  at  this  the  old  lady  in  tlie  wonderful  cap  trod  on  my 
toes  very  severely,  and  nodded  her  head  and  all  her  ribbons  in  a  most  mys- 
terious way.  Presently  the  two  ladies  rose  and  left  the  table,  the  elder  de- 
claring that  she  heard  the  baby  crying. 

"  Woolsey  my  dear,  go  with  your  mamma,"  said  Mr.  Woolsey,  patting 
the  boy  on  the  head  :  the  young  gentleman  obeyed  the  command,  carrying 
off  a  plate  of  macaroons  with  him. 

"  Your  son  is  a  fine  boy,  sir,"  said  I. 
^  My  step-son,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Woolsey  ;  and  added  in  a  louder 
voice,*'!  knew  you,  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle,  at  once,  but  did  not  mention  your 
name  for  fear  of  agitating  my  wife.  She  don't  like  to  have  the  memory  of 
old  times  renewed,  sir ;  her  former  husband,  whom  you  knew.  Captain 
Walker,  made  her  very  unhappy.   He  died  in  America,  sir,  of  this,  I  fear" 


228 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


(pointing  to  the  bottle),  "and  Mrs.  W.  quitted  the  stage  a  year  before  I 
quitted  business.    Are  you  going  on  to  Wiesbaden  ?  " 

They  went  off  in  their  carriage  that  evening,  the  boy  on  the  box  mak- 
ing great  efforts  to  blow  out  of  tlie  postilion's  tasselled  horn. 

I  am  glad  that  poor  Morgiana  is  happy  at  last,  and  hasten  to  inform 
you  of  the  fact :  I  am  going  to  visit  the  old  haunts  of  my  youth  at  Pum- 
pernickel. Adieu. 

Yours,  G.  F.  B. 


ME.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FIGHT  AT  SLAUGHTER  HOUSE. 

I  AM  very  fond  of  reading  about  battles,  and  have  most  of 
Marlborough's  and  WelUngton's  at  m}^  fingers'  ends  ;  but  the 
most  tremendous  combat  I  ever  saw,  and  one  that  interests  me 
to  think  of  more  than  Malplaquet  or  Waterloo  (which,  b}^  the 
wa}^  has  grown  to  be  a  downright  nuisance,  so  much  do  men 
talk  of  it  after  dinner,  prating  most  disgustingly  about  ''the 
Prussians  coming  up,"  and  what  not)  —  I  say  the  most  tremen- 
dous combat  ever  known  was  that  between  Beny  and  Biggs  the 
gown-boy,  which  commenced  in  a  certain  place  called  Middle 
Briars,  situated  in  the  midst  of  the  cloisters  that  run  along  the 
side  of  the  playground  of  Slaughter  House  School,  near  Smith- 
field,  London.  It  was  there,  moxlam,  that  your  humble  ser- 
vant had  the  honor  of  acquiring,  after  six  3'ears'  labor,  that 
immense  fund  of  classical  knowledge  which  in  after  life  has 
been  so  exceedingly^  useful  to  him. 

The  circumstances  of  the  quarrel  were  these:  — Biggs,  the 
gown-boy  (a  man  who,  in  those  days,  I  thought  was  at  least 
seven  feet  high,  and  was  quite  thunderstruck  to  find  in  after 
life  that  he  measured  no  more  than  five  feet  four) ,  was  what  we 
called  ' '  second  cock  "  of  the  school ;  the  first  cock  was  a  great 
big,  good-humored,  laz}^,  fair-haired  fellow.  Old  Hawkins  b}' 
name,  who,  because  he  was  large  and  good-humored,  hurt  no- 
bod}'.  Biggs,  on  the  contrar3\  was  a  sad  bully  ;  he  had  half  a 
dozen  fags,  and  beat  them  all  unmercifull}'.  Moreover,  he  had 
a  little  brother,  a  boarder  in  Potky's  house,  whom,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  he  hated  and  maltreated  worse  than  any  one  else. 

Well,  one  day,  because  3'oung  Biggs  had  not  brought  his 
brother  his  hoops,  or  had  not  caught  a  ball  at  cricket,  or  for 


MEN'S  WIVES. 

some  other  equally  good  reason,  Biggs  the  elder  so  belabored 
the  poor  little  fellow,  that  Berry,  who  was  sauntering  by,  and 
saw  the  dreadful  blows  which  the  elder  brother  was  dealing  to 
the  younger  with  his  hocke^^-stick,  felt  a  compassion  for  tlie 
little  fellow  (perhaps  he  had  a  jealous}-  against  Biggs,  and 
wanted  to  try  a  few  rounds  with  him,  but  that  I  can't  vouch 
for)  ;  however,  Beny  passing  b}^,  stopped  and  said,  "  Don't 
you  think  3^ou  have  thrashed  the  boy  enough,  Biggs?"  He 
spoke  this  in  a  ver}'  civil  tone,  for  he  never  would  have  thought 
of  interfering  rudel}"  with  the  sacred  privilege  that  an  upper  boy 
at  a  public  school  alwaj's  has  of  beating  a  junior,  especiallj^ 
when  they  happen  to  be  brothers. 

The  repl}^  of  Biggs,  as  might  be  expected,  was  to  hit  young 
Biggs  with  the  hockey-stick  twice  as  hard  as  before,  until  the 
little  wretch  howled  with  pain.  I  suppose  it's  no  business  of 
3'ours,  Beriy,"  said  Biggs,  thumping  away  all  the  while,  and 
laid  on  worse  and  worse. 

Until  Berry  (and,  indeed,  little  Biggs)  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  the  former,  bouncing  forward,  wrenched  the  stick 
out  of  old  Biggs's  hands,  and  sent  it  whirling  out  of  the  cloister 
window,  to  the  great  wonder  of  a  crowd  of  us  small  boj^s,  who 
were  looking  on.  Little  hoyf^  alwa3'S  like  to  see  a  little  com- 
panion of  their  own  soundly  beaten. 

There  !  "  said  Berry,  looking  into  Biggs's  face,  as  much  as 
to  sa}^     I've  gone  and  done  it :  "  and  he  added  to  the  brother, 
Scud  away,  you  little  thief!  I've  saved  you  this  time." 

"  Stop,  young  Biggs  !  "  roared  out  his  brother  after  a  pause  ; 
"  and  I'll  break  ever}'  bone  in  your  infernal,  scoundrelly  skin  !  " 

Young  Biggs  looked  at  Berry,  then  at  his  brother,  then 
came  at  his  brother's  order,  as  if  back  to  be  beaten  again,  but 
lost  heart  and  ran  away  as  fast  as  his  little  legs  could  carry 
him. 

I'll  do  for  him  another  time,"  said  Biggs.  "  Here,  under- 
boy,  take  my  coat ;  "  and  we  all  began  to  gather  round  and 
formed  a  ring. 

"  We  had  better  wait  till  after  school.  Biggs,"  cried  Berry, 
quite  cool,  but  looking  a  little  pale.  There  are  only  five 
minutes  now,  and  it  will  take  you  more  than  that  to  thrash 
me." 

Biggs  upon  this  committed  a  great  error ;  for  he  struck 
Berry  slightly  across  tlie  face  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  say- 
ing. You  are  in  a  funk."  But  this  was  a  feeling  which  Frank 
Berry  did  not  in  the  least  entertain  ;  for  in  reply  to  Biggs's 
back-hander,  and  as  quick  as  thought,  and  with  all  his  might 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY.  231 


and  main  —  pong !  he  delivered  a  blow  upon  old  Biggs's  nose 
that  made  the  claret  spirt,  and  sent  the  second  cock  down  to 
the  ground  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

He  was  up  again,  however,  in  a  minute,  his  face  white  and 
gashed  with  blood,  his  eyes  glaring,  a  ghastly  spectacle  ;  and 
Berrj^,  meanwhile,  had  taken  his  coat  off,  and  by  this  time 
there  were  gathered  in  the  cloisters,  on  all  the  windows,  and 
upon  each  other's  shoulders,  one  hundred  and  twenty  young 
gentlemen  at  the  very  least,  for  the  news  had  gone  out  through 
tlie  playground  of  "  a  fight  between  Berry  and  Biggs." 

But  Berry  was  quite  right  in  his  remark  about  the  propriety 
of  deferring  the  business,  for  at  this  minute  Mr.  Chip,  the 
second  master,  came  down  the  cloisters  going  into  school,  and 
grinned  in  his  queer  wa}'  as -he  saw  the  state  of  Biggs's  face. 

Holloa,  Mr.  Biggs,"  said  he,  "I  suppose  you  have  run 
against  a  finger-post."  That  was  the  regular  joke  with  us  at 
school,  and  you  ma}^  be  sure  we  all  laughed  heartily ;  as  we 
alwa3's  did  when  Mr.  Chip  made  a  joke,  or  an^'thing  like  a 
joke.  You  had  better  go  to  the  pump,  sir,  and  get  yourself 
washed,  and  not  let  Dr.  Buckle  see  you  in  that  condition."  So 
saying,  Mr.  Chip  disappeared  to  his  duties  in  the  under-school, 
whither  all  we  little  boys  followed  him. 

It  was  Wednesda}^,  a  half-holiday,  as  everybody  knows,  and 
boiled-beef  da}'  at  Slaughter  House.  I  was  in  the  same  board- 
ing-house with  Berr}^,  and  we  all  looked  to  see  whether  he  ate 
a  good  dinner,  just  as  one  would  examine  a  man  who  was 
going  to  be  hanged.  I  recollected,  in  after-life,  in  Germany, 
seeing  a  friend  who  was  going  to  fight  a  duel,  eat  five  larks 
for  his  breakfast,  and  thought  I  had  seldom  witnessed  greater 
courage.  Berry  ate  moderately'  of  the  boiled  beef — hoiled 
child  we  used  to  call  it  at  school,  in  our  elegant,  jocular  way  ; 
he  knew  a  great  deal  better  than  to  load  his  stomach  upon  the 
eve  of  such  a  contest  as  was  going  to  take  place. 

Dinner  was  very-  soon  over,  and  Mr.  Chip,  who  had  been  all 
the  while  joking  Berry,  and  pressing  him  to  eat,  called  him  up 
into  his  stud}',  to  the  great  disappointment  of  us  all,  for  we 
thought  he  was  going  to  prevent  the  fight ;  but  no  such  thing. 
The  Rev.  Edward  Chip  took  Berry  into  his  study,  and  poured 
him  out  two  glasses  of  port- wine,  which  he  made  him  take  with 
a  biscuit,  and  patted  him  on  the  back,  and  went  off.  I  have 
no  doubt  he  was  longing,  like  all  of  us,  to  see  the  battle  ;  but 
etiquette^  yon  know,  forbade. 

When  we  went  out  into  the  green.  Old  Hawkins  was  there 
—  the  great  Hawkins,  the  cock  of  the  school.    I  have  never 


232 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


seen  the  man  since,  but  still  think  of  him  as  of  something  aw- 
ful, gigantic,  mysterious  ;  he  who  could  thrash  ever^^body,  who 
could  beat  all  the  masters  :  how  we  longed  for  him  to  put  in  his 
hand  and  lick  Buckle  !  He  was  a  dull  boy,  not  ver}'  high  in 
the  school,  and  had  all  his  exercises  written  for  him.  Buckle 
knew  this,  but  respected  him  ;  never  called  him  up  to  read 
Greek  plays  ;  passed  over  all  his  blunders,  which  were  many  ; 
let  him  go  out  of  half-holidays  into  the  town  as  he  pleased: 
how  should  any  man  dare  to  stop  him  —  the  great,  calm,  mag- 
nanimous, silent  Strength  1  They  ssiy  he  licked  a  Life-Guards- 
man ;  I  wonder  whether  it  was  Shaw,  who  killed  all  those 
Frenchmen?  no,  it  could  not  be  Shaw,  for  he  was  dead  au 
champ  d'honneur ;  but  he  would  have  licked  Shaw  if  he  had 
been  alive.  A  bargeman  I  know  he  licked  at  Jack  Randall's 
in  Slaughter  House  Lane.  Old  Hawkins  was  too  lazy  to  play 
at  cricket ;  he  sauntered  all  day  in  the  sunshine  about  the 
green,  accompanied  by  little  Tippins,  who  was  in  the  sixth 
form,  laughed  and  joked  at  Hawkins  eternally,  and  was  the 
person  who  wrote  all  his  exercises. 

Instead  of  going  into  town  this  afternoon,  Hawkins  remained 
at  Slaughter  House,  to  see  the  great  fight  between  the  second 
and  third  cocks. 

The  different  masters  of  the  school  kept  boarding-houses 
(such  as  Potky's,  Chip's,  Wicken's,  Pinne3''s,  and  so  on),  and 
the  playgrouhd  or  green,"  as  it  was  called,  although  the  only 
thing  green  about  the  place  was  the  broken  glass  on  the  walls 
that  separate  Slaughter  House  from  Wilderness  Row  and  Gos- 
well  Street  —  (many  a  time  have  I  seen  Mr.  Pickwick  look  out 
of  his  window  in  that  street,  though  we  did  not  know  him  then) 
—  the  playground,  or  green,  was  common  to  all.  But  if  any 
stray  bo}'  from  Potk} 's  was  found,  for  instance,  in,  or  entering 
into,  Chip's  house,  the  most  dreadful  tortures  w^ere  practised 
upon  him :  as  I  can  answer  in  my  own  case. 

Fancy,  then,  our  astonishment  at  seeing  a  little  three-foot 
wretch,  of  the  name  of  Wills,  one  of  Hawkins's  fags  (the}'  were 
both  in  Potky's),  walk  undismay^ed  amongst  us  lions  at  Chip's 
house,  as  the  "  rich  and  rare  "  3'oung  lady  did  in  Ireland.  We 
were  going  to  set  upon  him  and  devour  or  otherwise  maltreat 
him,  when  he  cried  out  in  a  little  shrill,  impertinent  voice, 
"  Tell  Berry  I  want  him  !  " 

We  all  roared  with  laughter.  Berry  was  in  the  sixth  form, 
and  Wills  or  an}^  under-bo}'  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
"wanting"  him,  as  I  should  of  wanting  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY. 


233 


Little  Wills  looked  round  in  an  imperious  kind  of  way. 
Well,"  says  he,  stamping  his  foot,  do  you  hear?  Tell  Berry 
that  Hawkins  wants  him  !  " 

As  for  resisting  the  law  of  Hawkins,  3^ou  might  as  soon  think 
of  resisting  immortal  Jove.  Berry  and  Tolmash,  who  was  to 
be  his  bottle-holder,  made  their  appearance  immediately,  and 
walked  out  into  the  green  where  Hawkins  was  waiting,  and, 
with  an  irresistible  audacity  that  only  belonged  to  himself,  in 
the  face  of  nature  and  all  the  regulations  of  the  place,  was 
smoking  a  cigar.  When  Berry  and  Tolmash  found  him,  the 
three  began  slowly  pacing  up  and  down  in  the  sunshine,  and  we 
little  boys  watched  them. 

Hawkins  moved  his  arms  and  hands  every  now  and  then, 
and  was  . evidently  laying  down  the  law  about  boxing.  We  saw 
his  fists  darting  out  ever}'  now  and  then  with  mysterious  swift- 
ness, hitting  one,  two,  quick  as  thought,  as  if  in  the  face  of  an 
adversary- ;  now  his  left  hand  went  up,  as  if  guarding  his  own 
head,  now  his  immense  right  fist  dreadfully  flapped  the  air,  as 
if  punishing  his  imaginary  opponent's  miserable  ribs.  The  con- 
versation lasted  for  some  ten  minutes,  about  which  time  gown- 
boys'  dinner  was  over,  and  we  saw  these  youths  in  their  black, 
horn-buttoned  jackets  and  knee-breeches,  issuing  from  their  door 
in  the  cloisters.  There  were  no  hoops,  no  cricket-bats,  as  usual 
on  a  half-holiday.  Who  would  have  thought  of  pla}'  in  expec- 
tation of  such  tremendous  sport  as  was  in  store  for  us  ? 

Towering  among  the  gown-boys,  of  whom  he  was  the  head 
and  the  tyrant,  leaning  upon  Bushby's  arm,  and  followed  at  a 
little  distance  by  many  curious,  pale,  awe-stricken  boys,  dressed 
in  his  black  silk  stockings,  which  he  always  sported,  and  with 
a  crimson  bandanna  tied  round  his  waist,  came  Biggs.  His 
nose  was  swollen  with  the  blow  given  before  school,  but  his 
eyes  flashed  fire.  He  was  laughing  and  sneering  with  Bushb}', 
and  evidently  intended  to  make  minced  meat  of  Beny. 

The  betting  began  prett}^  freely  :  the  bets  were  against  poor 
Berry.  Five  to  three  were  offered  —  in  ginger-beer.  I  took 
six  to  four  in  raspberry  open  tarts.  The  upper  boys  carried 
the  thing  farther  still :  and  I  know  for  a  fact,  that  Swang's 
book  amounted  to  four  pound  three  (but  he  hedged  a  good  deal) , 
and  Tittery  lost  seventeen  shillings  in  a  single  bet  to  Pitts,  who 
took  the  odds. 

As  Biggs  and  his  party  arrived,  I  heard  Hawkins  say  to 
Berry,  ''For  heaven's  sake,  my  boy,  fib  with  your  right,  and 
mind  his  left  hand  !  " 

Middle  Briars  was  voted  to  be  too  confined  a  space  for  the 


234 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


combat,  and  it  was  agreed  that  it  should  take  place  behind  the 
under-school  in  the  shade,  whither  we  all  went.  Hawkins,  with 
his  immense  silver  hunting-watch,  kept  the  time  ;  and  water 
was  brought  from  the  pump  close  to  Notle^^'s  the  pastry-cook's, 
who  did  not  admire  fisticuffs  at  all  on  half-holidays,  for  the 
fights  kept  the  bo^^s  away  from  his  shop.  Gutley  was  the  only 
fellow  in  the  school  who  remained  faithful  to  him,  and  he  sat 
on  the  counter  —  the  great  gormandizing  brute  !  —  eating  tarts 
the  whole  day. 

This  famous  fight,  as  every  Slaughter  House  man  knows, 
lasted  for  two  hours  and  twenty-nine  minutes,  by  Hawkins's 
immense  watch.  All  this  time  the  air  resounded  with  cries  of 
''Go  it,  Berry!"  ''Go  it.  Biggs!"  "Pitch  into  him!" 
"  Give  it  him  !  "  and  so  on.  Shall  I  describe  the  hundred  and 
two  rounds  of  the  combat  ?  —  No  !  —  It  would  occupy  too  much 
space,  and  the  taste  for  such  descriptions  has  passed  away.* 

1st  round.  Both  the  combatants  fresh,  and  in  prime  order. 
The  weight  and  inches  somewhat  on  the  gown-boy's  side. 
Berry  goes  gallantly  in,  and  delivers  a  clinker  on  the  gown-boy's 
jaw.    Biggs  makes  play  with  his  left.    Berry  down. 

4th  round.  Claret  drawn  in  profusion  from  the  gown-bo3''s 
grog-shop.  (He  went  down,  and  had  his  front  tooth  knocked 
out,  but  the  blow  cut  Berry's  knuckles  a  great  deal.) 

15th  round.  Chancery.  Fibbing.  Biggs  makes  dreadful 
work  with  his  left.  Break  away.  Rally.  Biggs  down.  Bet- 
ting still  six  to  four  on  the  gown-boy. 

20th  round.  The  men  both  dreadfully  punished.  Berry 
somewhat  shy  of  his  adversary's  left  hand. 

29th  to  42nd  round.  The  Chipsite  all  this  while  breaks 
away  from  the  gown-boy's  left,  and  goes  down  on  a  knee.  Six 
to  four  on  the  gown-boy,  until  the  fortieth  round,  when  the  bets 
became  equal. 

102nd  and  last  round.  For  half  an  hour  the  men  had  stood 
up  to  each  other,  but  were  almost  too  weary  to  strike.  The 
gown-boy's  face  hardl}^  to  be  recognized,  swollen  and  stream- 

*  As  it  is  very  prohablc  that  many  fair  readers  may  not  approve  of 
tlie  extremely  forcil)le  languai^e  in  whicli  tlie  combat  is  depicted,  I  beg  tliem 
to  skip  it  and  pass  on  to  the  next  chapter,  and  to  remember  that  it  has 
been  modelled  on  the  style  of  the  very  best  writers  of  the  sporting  papers. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY. 


235 


ing  with  blood.  The  Chipsite  in  a  similar  condition,  and  still 
more  punished  about  his  side  from  his  enemy's  left  hand. 
Berry  gives  a  blow  at  his  adversary's  face,  and  falls  over  him 
as  he  falls. 

The  gown-boy  can't  come  up  to  time.  And  thus  ended  the 
great  fight  of  Berry  and  Biggs. 

And  what,  pray,  has  this  horrid  description  of  a  battle  and 
a  parcel  of  schoolboys  to  do  with  Men's  Wives  ? 

What  has  it  to  do  with  Me^'s  Wives  ?  —  A  great  deal  more, 
madam,  than  you  think  for.  Only  read  Chapter  II.,  and  you 
shall  hear. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  COMBAT  AT  VERSAILLES. 

I  AFTERWARDS  camc  to  be  Berry's  fag,  and,  though  beaten 
by  him  daily,  he  allowed,  of  course,  no  one  else  to  lay  a  hand 
upon  me,  and  I  got  no  more  thrashing  than  was  good  for  me. 
Thus  an  intimacy  grew  up  between  us,  and  after  he  left  Slaughter 
House  and  went  into  the  dragoons,  the  honest  fellow  did  not 
forget  his  old  friend,  but  actually  made  his  appearance  one  day 
in  the  playground  in  moustaches  and  a  braided  coat,  and  gave 
me  a  gold  pencil-case  and  a  couple  of  sovereigns.  I  blushed 
when  I  took  them,  but  take  them  I  did  ;  and  I  think  the  thing 
I  almost  best  recollect  in  my  life,  is  the  sight  of  Berr}-  getting 
behind  an  immense  bay  cab-horse,  which  was  held  b}^  a  correct 
little  groom,  and  was  waiting  near  the  school  in  Slaughter 
House  Square.  He  proposed,  too,  to  have  me  to  Long's," 
where  he  was  lodging  for  the  thiie  ;  but  this  invitation  was 
refused  on  my  behalf  b}^  Dr.  Buckle,  who  said,  and  possibl}' 
with  correctness,  that  I  should  get  little  good  b}'  spending  my 
holida}'  with  such  a  scapegrace. 

Once  afterwards  he  came  to  see  me  at  Christ  Church,  and 
we  made  a  show  of  writing  to  one  another,  and  didn't,  and 
always  had  a  hearty  mutual  good-will ;  and  though  we  did  not 
quite  burst  into  tears  on  parting,  were  yet  quite  happy  when 
occasion  threw  us  together,  and  so  almost  lost  sight  of  each 
other.    I  heard  lately  that  Berry  was  married,  and  am  rather 


236 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


ashamed  to  sa}',  that  I  was  not  so  curious  as  even  to  ask  the 
maiden  name  of  his  I'ddy. 

Last  summer  I  was  at  Paris,  and  had  gone  over  to  Versailles 
to  meet  a  partj^,  one  of  which  was  a  young  lady  to  .whom  I 
was  tenderly  ....  But,  never  mind.  The  day  was  rainy, 
and  the  party  did  not  keep  its  appointment ;  and  after  j^awning 
through  the  interminable  palace  picture-galleries,  and  then 
making  an  attempt  to  smoke  a  cigar  in  the  Palace  garden  —  for 
which  crime  I  was  nearlj'  run  through  the  bod}^  by  a  rascally 
sentinel  —  I  was  driven,  perforce,  into  the  great  bleak,  lonely 
Place  before  the  Palace,  with  its  roads  branching  off  to  all  the 
towns  in  the  world,  which  Louis  and  Napoleon  once  intended  to 
conquer,  and  there  enio3^ed  my  favorite  pursuit  at  leisure,  and 
was  meditating  whether  1  should  go  back  to  ' '  Vefour's "  for 
dinner,  or  patronize  my  friend  M.  Duboux  of  the  "  Hotel  des 
Reservoirs,"  who  gives  not  only  a  good  dinner,  but  as  dear  a 
one  as  heart  can  desire.  I  was,  I  say,  meditating  these  things, 
when  a  carriage  passed  by.  It  was  a  smart,  low  calash,  with  a 
pair  of  ba}^  horses  and  a  postilion  in  a  drab  jacket,  that  twinkled 
with  innumerable  buttons,  and  I  was  too  much  occupied  in 
admiring  the  build  of  the  machine,  and  the  extreme  tightness 
of  the  fellow's  inexpressibles,  to  look  at  the  personages  within 
the  carriage,  when  the  gentleman  roared  out  Fitz  !  "  and  the 
postilion  pulled  up,  and  the  lad}^  gave  a  shrill  scream,  and  a 
little  black-muzzled  spaniel  began  barking  and  3'elling  with  all 
his  might,  and  a  man  with  moustaches  jumped  out  of  the 
vehicle,  and  began  shaking  me  by  the  hand. 

''Drive  home,  John,"  said  the  gentleman:  ''I'll  be  with 
you,  my  love,  in  an  instant  —  it's  an  old  friend.  Fitz,  let  me 
present  you  to  Mrs.  Berry." 

The  lady  made  an  exceedingly  gentle  inclination  of  her 
black  velvet  bonnet,  and  said,  "  Praj^  my  love,  remember  that 
it  is  just  dinner-time.  However,  never  mind  me,''  And  with 
another  slight  toss  and  a  nod  to  the  postilion,  that  individual's 
white  leather  breeches  began  to  jump  up  and  down  again  in  the 
saddle,  and  the  carriage  disappeared,  leaving  me  shaking  my 
old  friend  Berry  b}'  the  hand. 

He  had  long  quitted  the  army,  but  still  wore  his  military 
beard,  which  gave  to  his  fair  pink  face  a  fierce  and  lion-like 
look.  He  was  extraordinarily  glad  to  sec  me,  as  only  men  are 
glad  who  live  in  a  small  town,  or  in  dull  compan}'.  There  is 
no  destroyer  of  friendships  like  London,  where  a  man  has  no 
time  to  think  of  his  ncMghbor,  and  has  far  too  man}^  friends  to 
care  for  them.    He  told  me  in  a  breath  of  his  marriage,  and 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY. 


237 


how  happ3^  he  was,  and  straight  insisted  that  I  must  come  home 
to  dinner,  and  see  more  of  AngeUca,  who  had  invited  me  her- 
self—didn't I  hear  her? 

Mrs.  Berry  asked  yoa^  Frank  ;  but  I  certainly  did  not  hear 
her  ask  me  !  " 

She  would  not  have  mentioned  the  dinner  but  that  she 
meant  me  to  ask  you.  I  know  she  did,"  cried  Frank  Berr3\ 
And,  besides  —  hang  it  —  I'm  master  of  the  house.  So  come 
you  shall.  No  eeremon}^  old  boy  —  one  or  t\^o  friends  —  snug 
family  party  —  and  we'll  talk  of  old  times  over  a  bottle  of 
claret." 

There  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be  the  shghtest  objection  to 
this  arrangement,  except  that  my  boots  were  mudd}^  and  my 
coat  of  the  morning  sort.  But  as  it  was  quite  impossible  to  go 
to  Paris  and  back  again  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  as  a  man 
may  dine  with  perfect  comfort  to  himself  in  a  frock-coat,  it  did 
not  occur  to  me  to  be  particularly  squeamish,  or  to  decline  an 
old  friend's  invitation  upon  a  pretext  so  trivial. 

Accordingly  we  walked  to  a  small  house  in  the  Avenue  de 
Paris,  and  w^ere  admitted  first  into  a  small  garden  ornamented 
by  a  grotto,  a  fountain,  and  several  nymphs  in  plaster-of-Paris, 
then  up  a  mouldy  old  steep  stair  into  a  hall,  where  a  statue  of 
Cupid  and  another  of  Venus  welcomed  us  with  their  eternal 
simper ;  then  through  a  saUe-a-rnanger^  where  covers  were  laid 
for  six  ;  and  finally  to  a  little  saloon,  where  Fido  the  dog  began 
to  how^l  furiousl}'  according  to  his  wont. 

It  was  one  of  the  old  pavihons  that  had  been  built  for  a 
pleasure-house  in  the  gay  daj^s  of  Versailles,  ornamented  with 
abundance  of  damp  Cupids  and  cracked  gilt  cornices,  and  old 
mirrors  let  into  the  walls,  and  gilded  once,  but  now  painted  a 
dingy  French  white.  The  long  low  windows  looked  into  the 
court,  where  the  fountain  played  its  ceaseless  dribble,  sur- 
rounded by  numerous  rank  creepers  and  weedy  flowers,  but  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  statues  stood  with  their  bases  quite 
moist  and  green. 

I  hate  fountains  and  statues  in  dark,  confined  places  :  that 
cheerless,  endless  plashing  of  water  is  the  most  inhospitable 
sound  ever  heard.  The  stiflT  grin  of  those  French  statues,  or 
ogling  Canova  Graces,  is  by  no  means  more  happy,  I  think, 
than  the  sm.ile  of  a  skeleton,  and  not  so  natural.  Those  little 
pavilions  in  which  the  old  roues  sported,  were  never  meant  to 
be  seen  by  daylight,  depend  on't.  They  were  lighted  up  with 
a  hundred  wax-candles,  and  the  little  fountain  yonder  was 
meant  only  to  cool  their  claret.    And  so,  my  first  impression  of 


238 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Berr3'*s  place  of  abode  was  rather  a  dismal  one.  However,  I 
heard  him  in  the  salle-a-manger  drawing  the  corks,  which  went 
off  with  a  cloop^  and  that  consoled  me. 

As  for  the  furniture  of  the  rooms  appertaining  to  the  Berr3'S, 
there  was  a  harp  in  a  leather  case,  and  a  piano,  and  a  flute-box, 
and  a  huge  tambour  with  a  Saracen's  nose  just  begun,  and  like- 
w^ise  on  the  table  a  multiplicity  of  those  little  gilt  books,  half 
sentimental  and  half  religious,  which  the  wants  of  the  age  and 
of  our  young  ladies  have  produced  in  such  numbers  of  late.  I 
quarrel  with  no  lady's  taste  in  that  way  ;  but  heigho  !  I  had 
rather  that  Mrs.  Fitz-Boodle  shoukl  read    Humphre}'  Clinker  !  " 

Beside  these  works,  there  was  a  "Peerage"  of  course. 
What  genteel  family  was  ever  without  one  ? 

I  was  making  for  the  door  to  see  Frank  drawing  the  corks, 
and  was  bounced  at  by  the  amiable  little  black-muzzled  spaniel, 
who  fastened  his  teeth  in  my  pantaloons,  and  received  a  polite 
kick  in  consequence,  which  sent  him  howling  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  and  the  animal  was  just  in  the  act  of  performing 
that  feat  of  agility,  when  the  door  opened  and  madame  made 
her  appearance.  Frank  came  behind  her  peering  over  her 
shoulder  with  rather' an  anxious  look. 

Mrs.  Berry  is  an  exceedingly  white  and  lean  person.  She 
has  thick  eyebrows,  which  meet  rather  dangerously  over  her 
nose,  which  is  Grecian,  and  a  small  mouth  with  no  lips  —  a 
sort  of  feeble  pucker  in  the  face  as  it  were.  Under  her  eye- 
brows are  a  pair  of  enormous  eyes,  which  she  is  in  the  habit  of 
turning  constantly  ceihng- wards.  Her  hair  is  rather  scarce, 
and  worn  in  bandeaux,  and  she  commonly  mounts  a  sprig  of 
laurel,  or  a  dark  flower  or  two,  w^hich,  with  the  sham  tour  —  I 
beUeve  that  is  the  name  of  the  knob  of  artificial  hair  that  many 
ladies  sport  —  gives  her  a  rigid  and  classical  look.  She  is 
dressed  in  black,  and  has  invariably  the  neatest  of  silk  stock- 
ings and  shoes  ;  for  forsooth  her  foot  is  a  fine  one,  and  she 
always  sits  with  it  before  her,  looking  at  it,  stamping  it,  and 
admiring  it  a  great  deal.  ''Fido,"  she  says  to  her  spaniel,. 
"  you  have  almost  crushed  my  poor  foot ; or,  Frank,"  to  her 
husband,  bring  me  a  footstool ;  "  or,  I  suffer  so  from  cold 
in  the  feet,"  and  so  forth  ;  but  be  the  conversation  what  it  will, 
she  is  always  sure  to  put  her  foot  into  it. 

She  invariably  wears  on  her  neck  the  miniature  of  her  late 
father,  Sir  George  Catacomb,  apothecary  to  George  III.  ;  and 
she  thinks  those  two  men  the  greatest  the  world  ever  saw. 
She  was  born  in  Baker  Street,  Portman  Square,  and  that  is 
saying  almost  enough  of  her.    She  is  as  long,  as  genteel,  and 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  RERRY. 


239 


as  dreary,  as  that  deadly-lively  place,  and  sports,  by  way  of 
ornament,  her  papa's  hatchment,  as  it  were,  as  every  tenth 
Baker  Street  house  has  taught  her. 

What  induced  such  a  jolly  fellow  as  Frank  Berry  to  marry 
Miss  Angelica  Catacomb  no  one  can  tell.  He  met  her,  he 
says,  at  a  ball  at  Hampton  Court,  where  his  regiment  was 
quartered,  and  where,  to  this  day,  lives  her  aunt  Lady  Pash." 
She  alludes  perpetually  in  conversation  to  that  celebrated  lady  ; 
and  if  you  look  in  the  ^'Baronetage"  to  the  pedigree  of  the 
Pash  family,  you  may  see  manuscript  notes  by  Mrs.  Frank 
Berry,  relative  to  them  and  herself.  Thus,  when  you  see  in 
print  that  Sir  John  Pash  married  Angelica,  daughter  of  Graves 
Catacomb.,  in  a  neat  hand  you  find  written,  and  sister  of  the 
late  Sir  George  Catacomb^  of  Baker  Street^  Portman  Square: 
"  A.  B."  follows  of  course.  It  is  a  wonder  how  fond  ladies 
are  of  writing  in  books  and  signing  their  charming  initials ! 
Mrs.  Berry's  before-mentioned  little  gilt  books  are  scored  with 
pencil-marks,  or  occasionally  at  the  margin  with  a !  —  note  of 
interjection,  or  the  words  Too  true^  A,  B.''  and  so  on.  Much 
may  be  learned  with  regard  to  lovel}-  woman  b}^  a  look  at  the 
books  she  reads  in ;  and  I  had  gained  no  inconsiderable 
knowledge  of  Mrs.  Berry  by  the  ten  minutes  spent  in  the 
drawing-room,  while  she  was  at  her  toilet  in  the  adjoining  bed- 
chamber. 

You  have  often  heard  me  talk  of  George  Fitz,"  says 
Berry,  with  an  appealing  look  to  madame. 

Very  often,"  answered  his  lady,  in  a  tone  which  clearly 
meant  a  great  deal  too  much."  Pray,  sir,"  continued  she, 
looking  at  m}^  boots  with  all  her  might,  are  we  to  have  your 
company  at  dinner?" 

''Of  course  3^ou  are,  my  dear ;  what  else  do  3'ou  think  he 
came  for?  You  would  not  have  the  man  go  back  to  Paris  to 
get  his  evening  coat,  would  you  ?  " 

"At  least,  my  love,  I  hope  3^ou  will  go  and  put  on  yours, 
and  change  those  muddy  boots.  Lady  Pash  will  be  here  in 
five  minutes,  and  3^ou  know  Dobus  is  as  punctual  as  clock- 
work." Then  turning  to  me  with  a  sort  of  apology  that  was 
as  consoling  as  a  box  on  the  ear,  "We  have  some  friends  at 
dinner,  sir,  who  are  rather  particular  persons  ;  but  I  am  sure 
when  they  hear  that  you  onl\'  came  on  a  sudden  invitation, 
they  will  excuse  your  morning  dress. — Bah,  what  a  smell  of 
smoke !  " 

With  this  speech  madame  placed  herself  majestically  on  a 
sofa,  put  out  her  foot,  called  Fido,  and  relapsed  into  an  icy 


240 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


silence.  Frank  had  long  since  evacuated  the  premises,  with  a 
rueful  look  at  his  wife,  but  never  daring  to  cast  a  glance  at  me. 
I  saw  the  whole  business  at  once  ;  here  was  this  lion  of  a 
fellow  tamed  down  by  a  she  Van  Amburgh,  and  fe telling  and 
carrying  at  her  orders  at  great  deal  more  obediently  than  her 
little  3'owling,  black-muzzled  darling  of  a  Ficlo. 

I  am  not,  however,  to  be  tamed  so  easily,  and  was  deter- 
mined in  this  instance  not  to  be  in  the  least  disconcerted,  or  to 
show  the  smallest  sign  of  ill-humor :  so  to  renouer  the  conver- 
sation, I  began  about  Lady  Fash. 

"  I  heard  you  mention  the  name  of  Fash,  I  think?"  said  I. 
"  I  know  a  lad}'  of  that  name,  and  a  very  ugly  one  it  is  too." 

''It  is  most  probably  not  the  same  person,"  answered  Mrs. 
Berry,  with  a  look  which  intimated  that  a  fellow  like  me  could 
never  have  had  the  honor  to  know  so  exalted  a  person. 

''I  mean  old  Lad}^  Fash  of  Hampton  Court.  Fat  woman 
—  fair,  ain't  she?  —  and  wears  an  amethyst  in  her  forehead, 
has  one  eye,  a  blond  wig,  and  dresses  in  light  green?" 

''Ladj^Fash,  sir,  is  my  aunt,"  answered  Mrs.  Berry  (not 
altogether  displeased,  although  she  expected  mone}'  from  the 
old  lady ;  but  you  know  we  love  to  hear  our  friends  abused 
when  it  can  be  safely  done). 

''Oh,  indeed!  she  was  a  daughter  of  old  Catacomb's  of 
Windsor,  I  remember,  the  undertaker.  The}'  called  her  hus- 
band Callipash,  and  her  ladyship  Fishpash.  So  you  see, 
madam,  that  I  know  the  whole  family ! " 

''  Mr.  Fitz-Simons  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Berry,  rising,  "  I  am 
not  accustomed  to  hear  nicknames  applied  to  myself  and  my 
family  ;  and  must  beg  you,  when  you  honor  us  with  3'our  com- 
pany, to  spare  our  feelings  as  much  as  possible.  Mr.  Cata- 
comb had  the  confidence  of  his  sovereign,  sir,  and  Sir  John 
Fash  was  of  Charles  II. 's  creation.  The  one  was  my  uncle, 
sir,  the  other  my  grandfather ! " 

"My  dear  madam,  I  am  extremely  sorry,  and  most  sin- 
cerel}'  apologize  for  my  inadvertence.  But  you  owe  me  an 
apology  too :  my  name  is  not  Fitz-Simons,  but  P'itz-Boodle." 

"What!  of  Boodle  Hall  —  m}-  husband's  old  friend;  of 
Charles  I.'s  creation?  My  dear  sir,  1  beg  you  a  thousand 
pardons,  and  am  delighted  to  welcome  a  person  of  whom  I 
have  heard  Frank  say  so  much.  Frank!"  (to  Berrj^,  who 
soon  entered  in  very  glossy  boots  and  a  white  waistcoat),  "  do 
you  know,  darling,  I  mistook  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle  for  Mr.  Fitz- 
Simons —  that  horrid  Irish  horse-dealing  person;  and  I  never, 
uever,  never  can  pardon  myself  for  being  so  rude  to  him." 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY.  241 


The  big  eyes  here  assumed  an  expression  that  was  intended 
to  kill  me  outright  with  kindness  :  from  being  cahn,  still,  re- 
served, Angelica  suddenl}'  became  gay,  smiling,  confidential, 
and  foldtre.  She  told  me  she  had  heard  I  was  a  sad  creature, 
and  that  she  intended  to  reform  me,  and  that  I  must  come  and 
see  Frank  a  great  deal. 

Now,  although  Mr.  Fitz-Simons,  for  whom  I  was  mistaken, 
is  as  low  a  fellow  as  ever  came  out  of  Dublin,  and  having  been 
a  captain  in  somebodv's  army,  is  now  a  blackleg  and  horse- 
dealer  by  profession  ;  yet  if  I  had  brought  him  home  to  Mrs. 
Fitz-Boodle  to  dinner,  I  should  have  liked  far  better  that  that 
imaginary  lady  should  have  received  him  with  decent  civilit}', 
and  not  insulted  the  stranger  within  her  husband's  gates.  And, 
although  it  was  delightful  to  be  received  so  cordiall}^  when 
the  mistake  was  discovered,  yet  I  found  that  all  Berry's  old 
acquaintances  were  by  no  means  so  warmly  welcomed  ;  for  an- 
other old  school-chum  presently  made  his  appearance,  who  was 
treated  in  a  very  different  manner. 

This  was  no  other  than  poor  Jack  Butts,  who  is  a  sort  of 
small  artist  and  picture-dealer  by  profession,  and  was  a  da}'- 
boy  at  Slaughter  House  when  we  were  there,  and  very  service- 
able in  bringing  in  sausages,  pots  of  pickles,  and  other  articles 
of  merchandise,  which  we  could  not  otherwise  procure.  The 
poor  fellow  has  been  employed,  seemingly,  in  the  same  office 
of  fetcher  and  carrier  ever  since  ;  and  occupied  that  post  for 
Mrs.  Berr}^  It  was,  ''Mr.  Butts,  have  you  finished  that 
drawing  for  Lady  Fash's  album?"  and  Butts  produced  it ;  and, 
"  Did  you  match  the  silk  for  me  at  Delille's?"  and  there  was 
the  silk,  bought,  no  doubt,  with  the  poor  fellow's  last  five 
francs  ;  and,  ''  Did  you  go  to  the  furniture-man  in  the  Rue  St. 
Jacques  ;  and  bring  the  canary-seed,  and  call  about  m}'  shawl 
at  that  odious,  dawdling  Madame  Fichet's ;  and  have  you 
brought  the  guitar-strings?" 

Butts  hadn't  brought  the  guitar-strings  ;  and  thereupon  Mrs. 
Berr^-'s  countenance  assumed  the  same  terrible  expression 
which  I  had  formerly  remarked  in  it,  and  which  made  me 
tremble  for  Berr3\ 

"  My  dear  Angelica,"  though  said  he  with  some  spirit, 
''Jack  Butts  isn't  a  baggage- wagon,  nor  a  Jack-of-all- trades  ; 
you  make  him  paint  pictures  for  your  women's  albums,  and 
look  after  your  upholsterer,  and  your  canary-bird,  and  your 
milliners,  and  turn  rusty  because  he  forgets  your  last  mes- 
sage." 

"  I  did  not  turn  rusty ^  Frank,  as  you  call  it  elegantly.  Fm 

16 


242 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


very  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Butts  for  performing  my  commissions 
—  very  much  obliged.  And  as  for  not  paying  for  the  pictures 
to  which  you  so  kindly  allude,  Frank,  /  should  never  have 
thought  of  offering  payment  for  so  paltr^^  a  service  ;  but  I'm 
sure  I  shall  be  happy  to  pay  if  Mr.  Butts  will  send  me  in  his 
bill." 

"By  Jove,  Angelica,  this  is  too  much!"  bounced  out 
Berry ;  but  the  little  matrimonial  squabble  was  abruptly  ended, 
by  Berr^-'s  French  man  flinging  open  the  door  and  announcing 
MiLADi  Pash  and  Doctor  Dobus,  which  two  personages  made 
their  appearance. 

The  person  of  old  Pash  has  been  already  parenthetically 
described.  But  quite  different  from  her  dismal  niece  in  tem- 
perament, she  is  as  jolly  an  old  widow  as  ever  wore  weeds. 
She  was  attached  somehow  to  the  Court,  and  has  a  multiphcity 
of  stories  about  the  princesses  and  the  old  king,  to  which  Mrs. 
Berry  never  fails  to  call  3'our  attention  in  her  grave,  important 
w^y.  Lady  Pash  has  ridden  many  a  time  to  the  Windsor 
hounds  ;  she  made  her  husband  become  a  member  of  the  Four- 
in-hand  Club,  and  has  numberless  stories  about  Sir  Godfre}^ 
Webster,  Sir  John  Lade,  and  the  old  heroes  of  those  times. 
She  has  lent  a  rouleau  to  Dick  Sheridan,  and  remembers  Lord 
Byron  when  he  was  a  sulky,  slim  3'oung  lad.  She  sa3^s  Charles 
Fox  was  the  pleasantest  fellow  she  ever  met  with,  and  has  not 
the  slightest  objection  to  inform  3^ou  that  one  of  the  princes 
was  very  much  in  love  with  her.  Yet  somehow  she  is  onlv 
fifty-two  years  old,  and  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand 
her  calculation.  One  da3'  or  other  before  her  e3'e  went  out, 
and  before  those  pearl3^  teeth  of  hers  were  stuck  to  her  gums 
b3^  gold,  she  must  have  been  a  prett3'-looking  bod3^  enough. 
Yet  in  spite  of  the  latter  incouA^enience,  she  eats  and  drinks 
too  much  ever3'  da3',  and  tosses  off  a  glass  of  Maraschino  with 
a  trembling  pudg3^  hand,  ever3^  finger  of  which  twinkles  with  a 
dozen,  at  least,  of  old  rings.  She  has  a  stor3^  about  every  one 
of  those  rings,  and  a  stupid  one  too.  But  there  is  alwa3'S 
something  pleasant,  I  think,  in  stupid  family  stories  :  they  are 
good-hearted  peo[)le  who  tell  them. 

As  for  Mrs.  Muchit,  nothing  need  be  said  of  her :  she  is 
Pash's  companion,  she  has  lived  with  Lady  Pash  since  the 
peace.  Nor  does  m3^  lady  take  any  more  notice  of  her  than 
of  the  dust  of  the  earth.  She  calls  her  poor  Muchit,"  and 
considers  her  a  half-witted  creature.  Mrs.  Berr3"  hates  her 
cordiall3^,  and  thinks  she  is  a  designing  toad-eater,  who  has 
formed  a  conspiracy  to  rob  her  of  her  aunt's  fortune.  She 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY.  243 


never  spoke  a  word  to  poor  Muchit  during  the  whole  of  dinner, 
or  offered  to  help  her  to  anything  on  the  table. 

In  respect  to  Dobus,  he  is  an  old  Peninsular  man,  as  you 
are  made  to  know  before  you  have  been  very  long  in  his  com- 
pany ;  and,  like  most  army  surgeons,  is  a  great  deal  more  mili- 
tar}'  in  his  looks  and  conversation,  than  the  combatant  part  of 
the  forces.  He  has  adopted  the  sham-Duke-of- Wellington  air, 
which  is  by  no  means  uncommon  in  veterans  ;  and  though  one 
of  the  easiest  and  softest  fellows  in  existence,  speaks  slowly 
and  briefly,  and  raps  out  an  oath  or  two  occasionally,  as  it  is 
said  a  certain  great  captain  does.    Besides  the  above,  we  sat 

down  to  table  with  Captain  Goff,  late  of  the  Highlanders  ; 

the  Rev.  Lemuel  Whey,  who  preaches  at  St.  Germains  ;  little 
Cutler,  and  the  Frenchman,  who  alwa3^s  will  be  at  English  par- 
ties on  the  Continent,  and  who,  after  making  some  frightful 
efforts  to  speak  English,  subsides  and  is  heard  of  no  more. 
Young  married  ladies  and  heads  of  families  generall}^  have  him 
for  the  purpose  of  waltzing,  and  in  return  he  informs  his  friends 
of  the  ckib  or  the  cafe  that  he  has  made  the  conquest  of  a  char- 
mante  Anglaise.  Listen  to  me,  all  family  men  who  read  this  ! 
and  never  let  an  unmarried  Frenchman  into  your  doors.  This 
lecture  alone  is  worth  the  price  of  the  book.  It  is  not  that  they 
do  any  harm  in  one  case  out  of  a  thousand,  heaven  forbid  !  but 
thev  mean  harm.  They  look  on  our  Susannahs  with  unholy, 
dishonest  eyes.  Hearken  to  two  of  the  grinning  rogues  chat- 
tei'ing  together  as  the}^  clink  over  the  asphalte  of  the  Boulevard 
with  lacquered  boots,  and  plastered  hair,  and  waxed  mous- 
taches, and  turned-down  shirt-collars,  and  stag's  and  goggling 
eyes,  and  hear  how  they  talk  of  a  good,  simple,  giddy,  vain, 
dull  Baker  Street  creature,  and  canvass  her  points,  and  show 
her  letters,  and  insinuate  —  never  mind,  but  I  tell  3^ou  my  soul 
grows  angry  when  I  think  of  the  same  ;  and  I  can't  hear  of  an 
Englishwoman  marrjing  a  Frenchman,  without  feeling  a  sort 
of  shame  and  pity  for  her.* 

To  return  to  the  guests.  The  Rev.  Lemuel  Whey  is  a  tea- 
party  man,  with  a  curl  on  his  forehead  and  a  scented  pocket- 
handkerchief.    He  ties  his  white  neck-cloth  to  a  wonder,  and  I 

*  Every  person  who  has  lived  abroad,  can,  of  course,  pomt  out  a  score 
of  honorable  exceptions  to  the  case  above  liinted  at,  and  knows  many  such 
unions  in  which  it  is  the  Frenchman  who  honors  the  EngUsh  lady  by  mar- 
rying her.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  marrying  in  France  means 
commonly  fortune-huuthu/ :  and  as  for  the  respect  in  which  marriage  is  held 
in  France,  let  all  the  French  novels  in  M.  Rolandi's  library  be  perused  hy 
those  who  wish  to  come  to  a  decision  upon  the  question. 


244 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


believe  sleeps  in  it.  He  brings  his  flute  with  him  ;  and  prefers 
Handel,  of  course  ;  but  has  one  or  two  pet  profane  songs  of  the 
sentimental  kind,  and  will  occasionally  lift  up  his  little  pipe  in 
a  glee.  He  does  not  dance,  but  tlie  honest  fellow  would  give 
the  world  to  do  it ;  and  he  leaves  his  clogs  in  the  passage, 
though  it  is  a  wonder  he  wears  them,  for  in  the  muddiest 
weather  he  never  has  a  speck  on  his  foot.  He  was  at  St. 
John's  College,  Cambridge,  and  was  rather  ga}'  for  a  term  or 
two,  he  says.  He  is,  in  a  word,  full  of  the  milk-and-water  of 
human  kindness,  and  his  famil}^  lives  near  Hackne3\ 

As  for  Goff,  he  has  a  huge,  shining,  bald  forehead,  and 
immense  bristUng,  Indian-red  whiskers.  He  w^ears  white  wash- 
leather  gloves,  drinks  fairl}^  likes  a  rubber,  and  has  a  story  for 
after  dinner,  beginning,  ''Doctor,  je  racklackt  Sandy  M'Lel- 
lan,  who  joined  us  in  the  West  Indies.  Wal,  sir,"  &c.  These 
and  little  Cutler  made  up  the  part3\ 

Now  it  may  not  have  struck  all  readers,  but  any  sharp  fel- 
low conversant  with  writing  must  have  found  out  long  ago,  that 
if  there  had  been  something  exceedingh^  interesting  to  narrate 
with  regard  to  this  dinner  at  Frank  Berrj-'s,  I  should  have  come 
out  with  it  a  couple  of  pages  since,  nor  have  kept  the  public 
looking  for  so  long  a  time  at  the  dish-covers  and  ornaments  of 
the  table. 

But  the  simple  fact  must  now  be  told,  that  there  was  nothing 
of  the  slightest  importance  occurred  at  this  repast,  except  that 
it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  studying  Mrs.  Berry  in  many  dif- 
ferent wa3^s  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  extreme  complaisance  which 
she  now  showed  me,  of  forming,  I  am  sorry  to  sa)',  a  most 
unfavorable  opinion  of  that  fair  lad}'.  Truth  to  tell,  I  would 
much  rather  she  should  have  been  civil  to  Mrs.  Muchit,  than 
outrageously  complimentary  to  your  humble  servant ;  and,  as 
she  professed  not  to  know  what  on  earth  there  was  for  dinner, 
would  it  not  have  been  much  more  natural  for  her  not  to  frown, 
and  bob,  and  wink,  and  point,  and  pinch  her  lips  as  often  as 
Monsieur  Anatole,  her  French  domestic,  not  knowing  the  wa^^s 
of  English  dinner-tables,  placed  anything  out  of  its  due  order? 
The  allusions  to  Boodle  Hall  were  innumerable,  and  I  don't 
know  any  greater  bore  than  to  be  obliged  to  tnlk  of  a  place 
which  belongs  to  one's  elder  brother.  Man}'  questions  were 
likewise  asked  al)out  the  dowager  and  her  Scotch  relatives,  the 
Plumduffs,  about  whom  Lady  Pasli  knew  a  great  deal,  having 
seen  them  at  court  and  at  Lord  Melville's.  Of  course  she  had 
seen  them  at  court  and  at  Lord  Melville's,  as  she  might 
have  seen  thousands  of  Scotchmen  besides  ;  but  what  mattered 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY. 


245 


it  to  me,  who  care  not  a  jot  for  old  Lady  Fitz-Boodle?  "  When 
you  write,  you'll  say  you  met  an  old  friend  of  her  ladyship's," 
says  Mrs.  Berry,  and  I  faithfully  promised  I  would  wlien  I 
wrote ;  but  if  the  New  Post  Office  paid  us  for  writing  letters 
(as  very  possibly  it  will  soon),  1  could  not  be  bribed  to  send  a 
line  to  old  Lady  Fitz. 

In  a  word  I  found  that  Berrj^  like  many  simple  fellows 
before  him,  had  made  choice  of  an  imperious,  ill-humored,  and 
underbred  female  for  a  wife,  and  could  see  with  half  an  eye 
that  he  was  a  great  deal  too  much  her  slave. 

The  struggle  was  not  over  yet,  however.  Witness  that  little  * 
encounter  before  dinner ;  and  once  or  twice  the  honest  fellow 
replied  rather  smartly  during  the  repast,  taking  especial  care  to 
atone  as  much  as  possible  for  his  wife's  inattention  to  Jack  and 
Mrs.  Muchit,  by  particular  attention  to  those  personages,  whom 
he  helped  to  everything  round  about  and  pressed  perpetually  to 
champagne  ;  he  drank  but  little  himself,  for  his  amiable  wife's 
eye  was  constantly  fixed  on  him. 

Just  at  the  conclusion  of  the  dessert,  madame,  >'ho  had 
bonded  Berry  during  dinner-time,  became  particularl}'  gracious 
to  her  lord  and  master,  and  tenderly  asked  me  if  I  did  not  think 
the  French  custom  was  a  good  one,  of  men  leaving  table  with 
the  ladies. 

''Upon  my  word,  ma'am,"  sa3's  I,  "I  think  it's  a  most 
abominable  practice." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  says  Cutler. 

"A  most  abominable  practice!    Do  you  hear  thatV  cries 
Berr}^  laughing,  and  fiUing  his  glass. 

I'm  sure,  Frank,  when  we  are  alone  you  alwa^'s  come  to 
the  drawing-room,"  replies  the  lady,  sharpl3\ 

"Oh,  yes!  when  we're  alone,  darling,"  says  Berry,  blush- 
ing; "but  now  we're  not  alone  —  ha,  ha!  Anatole,  du  Bor- 
deaux ! " 

"  I'm  sure  they  sat  after  the  ladies  at  Carlton  House  ;  didn't 
they,  Lady  Pash?"  saj^s  Dobus,  who  likes  his  glass. 

"  That  they  did  ! "  says  m}^  lad}^,  giving  him  a  jolly  nod. 

"  I  racklackt,"  exclaims  Captain  Goff,  "  when  I  was  in  the 
Mauritius,  that  Mes tress  MacWhirter,  who  commanded  the 
Saxty-Sackond,  used  to  sa}',  '  Mac,  if  3^e  want  to  get  lively, 
ye'll  not  stop  for  more  than  two  hours  after  the  leddies  have 
laft  ye :  if  ye  want  to  get  drunk,  ye'll  just  dine  at  the  mass.' 
So  ye  see,  Mestress  Barry,  what  was  Mac's  allowance  —  haw, 
haw !    Mester  Whe}^  I'll  trouble  ve  for  the  o-lives." 

But  although  we  were  in  a  clear  majorit}',  that  indomitable 


246 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


woman^  Mrs.  Berry,  determined  to  make  us  all  as  uneas}'  as 
possible,  and  would  take  the  votes  all  round.  Poor  Jack,  of 
course,  sided  with  her,  and  Whe}^  said  he  loved  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  little  music  better  than  all  the  wine  of  Bordeaux.  As 
for  the  Frenchman,  when  Mj  S.  Berr}"  said,  "  And  what  do  3'ou 
think,  M.  le  Vicomte?" 

"  Yat  3^ou  speak?"  said  M.  de  Blagueval,  breaking  silence 
for  the  first  time  during  two  hours;  ''yase  —  eh?  to  me  you 
speak  ?  " 

"  Apry  deeny^  aimy-voo  ally  avec  les  damV^ 
' '  Comment  avec  les  dames  ?  " 

"  Ally  avec  les  dam  com  a  Parry ^  ou  resty  avec  les  Messew  com 
vn  Onglyterre  ?  " 

"  madame !  voiis  me  le  demandez'^^^  cries  the  little 
wretch,  starting  up  in  a  theatrical  wa}',  and  putting  out  his 
hand,  whicli  Mrs.  Berr}^  took,  and  with  this  the  ladies  left  the 
room.  Old  Lad}^  Pash  trotted  after  her  niece  with  her  hand  in 
Whey's,  very  much  wondering  at  such  practices,  which  were 
not  in  the  least  in  vogue  in  the  reign  of  George  III. 

Mrs.  Berry  cast  a  glance  of  triumph  at  her  husband,  at  the 
defection  ;  and  Berry  was  evidentlj^  annoj'ed  that  three-eighths 
of  his  male  forces  had  left  him. 

But  fancy  our  delight  and  astonishment  when  in  a  minute 
they  all  three  came  back  again  ;  the  Frenchman  looking  entirely 
astonished,  and  the  parson  and  the  painter  both  very  queer.  The 
fact  is,  old  downright  Lad}^  Pash,  who  had  never  iDcen  in  Paris 
in  her  life  before,  and  had  no  notion  of  being  deprived  of  her 
usual  hour's  respite  and  nap,  said  at  once  to  Mrs.  Berry,  "  My 
dear  Angelica,  you're  sureh'  not  going  to  keep  these  three  men 
here?  Send  them  back  to  the  dining-room,  for  I've  a  thousand 
things  to  say  to  3'ou."  And  Angelica,  who  expects  to  inherit 
her  aunt's  propert}^  of  course  did  as  she  was  bid  ;  on  which 
the  old  lady  fell  into  an  easy-chair,  and  fell  asleep  immediatelj^, 
—  so  soon,  that  is,  as  the  sliout  caused  by  the  reappearance  of 
the  three  gentlemen  hi  the  dining-room  had  subsided. 

I  had  meanwhile  had  some  i)rivate  conversation  with  little 
Cutler  regarding  the  character  of  Mrs.  Berry.  She's  a  regu- 
lar screw,"  whispered  he;  "a  regular  Tartar.  Berry  shows 
fight,  though,  sometimes,  and  I've  known  him  have  his  own 
way  for  a  week  together.  After  dinner  he  is  his  own  master, 
and  hers  when  he  has  had  his  share  of  wine  :  and  that's  why 
she  will  never  allow  him  to  drink  any." 

Was  it  a  wicked  or  was  it  a  nol)le  and  honorable  thought 
which  came  to  us  both  at  the  same  minute,  to  rescue  Berry 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY. 


247 


from  his  captivitj^?  The  ladies,  of  course,  will  give  their  ver- 
dict according  to  their  gentle  natures  ;  but  I  know  what  men 
of  courage  will  thhik,  and  by  their  jovial  judgment  will  abide. 

We  received,  then,  the  three  lost  sheep  back  into  our  inno- 
cent fold  again  with  the  most  joyous  shouting  and  cheering. 
We  made  Berr}'  (who  was,  in  truth,  nothing  loth)  order  up  I 
don't  know  how  much  more  claret.  We  obliged  the  Frenchman 
to  drink  malgre  lui^  and  in  the  course  of  a  short  time  we  had 
poor  Whe}^  in  such  a  state  of  excitement,  that  he  actually  vol- 
unteered to  sing  a  song,  which  he  said  he  had  heard  at  some 
very  gay  supper-party  at  Cambridge,  and  which  begins  :  — 

"  A  pye  sat  on  a  pear-tree, 
A  pye  sat  on  a  pear-tree, 
A  pye  sat  on  a  pear-tree, 

Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho,  heigh-ho  !  " 

Fancy  Mrs.  Berry's  face  as  she  looked  in,  in  the  midst  of 
that  Bacchanalian  ditty,  when  she  saw  no  less  a  person  than 
the  Rev.  Lemuel  Whey  carolling  it ! 

''Is  it  3^ou,  my  dear?"  cries  Berr}^  as  brave  now  as  any 
Petruchio.    "  Come  in,  and  sit  down,  and  hear  Whey's  song." 

"  Lady  Pash  is  asleep,  Frank,"  said  she. 

"Well,  darhng !  that's  the  very  reason.  Give  Mrs.  Beny 
a  glass.  Jack,  will  you?" 

"  Would  you  wake  3'our  aunt,  sir?"  hissed  out  madame. 
Never  mind  me,  love!    Fm  awake  and  like  it  I    cried  the 
-venerable  Lady  Pash  from  the  salon.        Sing  away,  gentle- 
men ! " 

At  which  we  all  set  up  an  audacious  cheer ;  and  Mrs.  Berrj^ 
flounced  back  to  the  drawing-room,  but  did  not  leave  the  door 
open,  that  her  aunt  might  hear  our  melodies. 

Berr}^  had  by  this  time  arrived  at  that  confidential  state  to 
which  a  third  bottle  always  brings  the  well-regulated  mind  ; 
and  he  made  a  clean  confession  to  Cutler  and  myself  of  his 
numerous  matrimonial  annoyances.  He  was  not  aUowed  to 
dine  out,  he  said,  and  but  seldom  to  ask  his  friends  to  meet 
him  at  home.  He  never  dared  smoke  a  cigar  for  the  life  of 
him,  not  even  in  the  stables.  He  spent  the  mornings  dawd- 
ling in  eternal  shops,  the  evenings  at  endless  tea-parties,  or  in 
reading  poems  or  missionar}'  tracts  to  his  wife.  He  was  com- 
pelled to  take  physic  whenever  she  thought  he  looked  a  little 
pale,  to  change  his  shoes  and  stockings  whenever  he  came  in 
from  a  walk.    ''Look  here,"  said  he,  opening  his  chest,  and 


248 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


shaking  his  fist  at  Dobus ;  ' '  look  what  Angelica  and  that 
infernal  Dobus  have  brought  me  to.*' 

I  thouglit  it  might  be  a  flannel  waistcoat  into  which  madame 
had  forced  him :  but  it  was  worse  :  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honor  it  was  a  pitch-plaster  ! 

We  all  roared  at  this,  and  the  doctor  as  loud  as  any  one  ; 
but  he  vowed  that  he  had  no  hand  in  the  pitch-plaster.  It  was 
a  favorite  famil}^  remedy  of  the  late  apothecarj^,  Sir  George 
Catacomb,  and  had  been  put  on  b}^  Mrs.  Berry's  own  fair 
hands. 

When  Anatole  came  in  with  coffee,  Berry  was  in  such  high 
courage,  that  he  told  him  to  go  to  the  deuce  with  it ;  and  we 
never  caught  sight  of  Lady  Pash  more,  except  wlien,  muffled 
up  to  the  nose,  she  passed  through  the  salle-a-manger  to  go  to 
her  carriage,  in  which  Dobus  and  tlie  parson  were  likewise  to 
be  transported  to  Paris.  Be  a  man,  Frank,"  saj^s  she,  and 
hold  your  own  "  —  for  the  good  old  lad}^  had  taken  her  nephew's 
part  in  the  matrimonial  business  —  and  3'ou,  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle, 
come  and  see  him  often.  You're  a  good  fellow,  take  old  one- 
eyed  CaUipash's  word  for  it.    Shall  1  take  you  to  Paris  ?  " 

Dear,  kind  Angelica,  she  had  told  her  aunt  all  I  said ! 
Don't  go,  George,"  saj's  Berrj^,  squeezing  me  by  the 
hand.  So  I  said  I  was  going  to  sleep  at  Versailles  that  night ; 
but  if  she  would  give  a  convoy  to  Jack  Butts,  it  would  be  con- 
ferring a  great  obligation  on  him  ;  with  which  favor  the  old 
lady  accordingly  complied,  saying  to  him,  with  great  coolness. 
Get  up  and  sit  with  John  in  the  rumble,  Mr.  What-d'ye-call- 
'im."  The  fact  is,  the  good  old  soul  despises  an  artist  as  much 
as  she  does  a  tailor. 

Jack  tripped  to  his  place  very  meekly;  and  "Remember 
Saturday,"  cried  the  doctor;  and  ''Don't  forget  Thursday," 
exclaimed  the  divine,  —  ''a  bachelors'  party,  you  know." 
And  so  the  cavalcade  drove  thundering  down  the  gloomy  old 
Avenue  de  Paris. 

The  Frenchman,  I  forgot  to  sa}',  had  gone  awa}^  exceedingly 
ill  long  before;  and  the  reminiscences  of  ''Thursda}^"  and 
''Saturda}^"  evoked  by  Dobus  and  Whey,  were,  to  tell  the 
truth,  parts  of  our  conspiracy :  for  in  the  heat  of  Berry's 
courage,  we  had  made  him  promise  to  dine  with  us  all  round 
en  gargon ;  with  all  except  Captain  Goff,  who  ' '  racklacted " 
that  he  was  engaged  every  day  for  the  next  three  weeks  ;  as 
indeed  he  is,  to  a  thirty-sous  ordinary  which  the  gallant  officer 
frequents,  when  not  invited  elsewhere. 

Cutler  and  I  then  were  the  last  on  the  field  ;  and  though  we 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FRANK  BERRY. 


249 


were  for  moving  away,  Berry,  wliose  vigor  had,  if  possible, 
been  excited  b}^  the  bustle  and  colloquy  in  the  night  air,  in- 
sisted upon  dragging  us  back  again,  and  actually  proposed  a 
grill  for  supper ! 

We  found  in  the  salle-a-rnancjer  a  strong  smell  of  an  extin- 
guished lamp,  and  Mrs.  Berry  was  snuffing  out  the  candles  on 
the  sideboard. 

Hullo,  my  dear  !  "  shouts  Berry  :  easily,  if  you  please  ! 
we've  not  done  3^et !  " 

Not  done  yet,  Mr.  Beny  !  "  groans  the  lady,  in  a  hollow, 
sepulchral  tone. 

No,  Mrs.  B.,  not  done  3^et.  We  are  going  to  have  some 
supper,  ain't  we,  George?'' 

''I  think  it's  quite  time  to  go  home,"  said  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle 
(who,  to  say  the  truth,  began  to  tremble  himself). 

1  think  it  is,  sir ;  you  are  quite  right,  sir  ;  you  will  pardon 
me,  gentlemen,  I  have  a  bad  headache,  and  will  retire." 

"•Good-night,   m}^  dear!"    said   that  audacious  Berr}'. 
Anatole,  tell  the  cook  to  broil  a  fowl  and  bring  some  wine." 

If  the  loving  couple  had  been  alone,  or  if  Cutler  had  not 
been  an  attache  to  the  embassy,  before  whom  she  was  afraid 
of  making  herself  ridiculous,  I  am  confident  that  Mrs.  Berry 
would  have  fainted  awa}'  on  the  spot ;  and  that  all  Berry's 
courage  would  have  tumbled  down  lifeless  by  the  side  of  her. 
So  she  only  gave  a  martyrized  look,  and  left  the  room  ;  and 
while  we  partook  of  the  very  unnecessar}'  repast,  was  good 
enough  to  sing  some  hymn  tunes  to  an  exceedingly  slow  move- 
ment in  the  next  room,  intimating  that  she  was  awake,  and 
that,  though  suffering,  she  found  her  consolations  in  religion. 

These  melodies  did  not  in  the  least  add  to  our  friend's 
courage.  The  devilled  fowl  had,  somehow,  no  devil  in  it. 
The  champagne  in  the  glasses  looked  exceedingly  flat  and  blue. 
The  fact  is,  that  Cutler  and  I  were  now  both  in  a  state  of  dire 
consternation,  and  soon  made  a  move  for  our  hats,  and  light- 
ing each  a  cigar  in  the  hall,  made  across  the  little  green  where 
the  Cupids  and  Nymphs  were  listening  to  the  dribbling  fountain 
in  the  dark. 

''I'm  hanged  if  I  don't  have  a  cigar  too!"  says  Berry, 
rushing  after  us  ;  and  accordingly^  putting  in  his  pocket  a  key 
about  the  size  of  a  shovel,  \Yhich  hung  by  the  little  handle  of 
the  outer  grille,  forth  he  sallied,  and  joined  us  in  our  fumi- 
gation. 

He  staj'ed  with  us  a  couple  of  hours,  and  returned  home- 
wards in  perfect  good  spirits,  having  given  me  his  word  of 


250 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


honor  he  would  dine  with  us  the  next  day.  He  put  in  his 
immense  key  into  the  grille,  and  unlocked  it ;  but  the  gate 
would  not  open  :  it  was  bolted  within. 

He  began  to  make  a  furious  jangling  and  ringing  at  the 
bell;  and  in  oaths,  both  French  and  English,  called  upon  the 
recalcitrant  Anatole. 

After  much  tolUng  of  the  bell,  a  light  came  cutting  across 
the  crevices  of  the  inner  door  ;  it  was  thrown  open,  and  a  figure 
appeared  with  a  lamp,  —  a  tall,  slim  figure  of  a  woman,  clothed 
in  white  from  head  to  foot. 

It  was  Mrs.  Berry,  and  when  Cutler  and  I  saw  her,  we  both 
ran  away  as  fast  as  our  legs  could  carr}^  us. 

Berrj',  at  this,  shrieked  with  a  wild  laughter.  "Remember 
to-morrow,  old  boys,"  shouted  he, — "six  o'clock;"  and  we 
were  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off  when  the  gate  closed,  and  the  little 
mansion  of  the  Avenue  de  Paris  was  once  more  quiet  and 
dark. 

The  next  afternoon,  as  we  were  pla3'ing  at  billiards,  Cutler 
saw  Mrs.  Berr}^  drive  b}^  in  her  carriage  ;  and  as  soon  as  rather 
a  long  rubber  was  over,  I  thought  I  would  go  and  look  for  our 
poor  friend,  and  so  went  down  to  the  Pavilion.  Every  door 
was  open,  as  the  wont  is  in  France,  and  I  walked  in  unan- 
nounced, and  saw  this  : 

He  was  playing  a  duet  with  her  on  the  flute.  She  had  been 
out  but  for  half  an  hour,  after  not  speaking  all  the  morning ; 
and  having  seen  Cutler  at  the  billiard-room  window,  and  sus- 
pecting we  might  take  advantage  of  her  absence,  she  had 
suddenly  returned  home  again,  and  had  flung  herself,  weeping, 
into  her  Frank's  arms,  and  said  she  could  not  bear  to  leave 
him  in  anger.  And  so,  after  sitting  for  a  little  while  sobbing 
on  his  knee,  she  had  forgotten  and  forgiven  everything ! 

The  dear  angel !  I  met  poor  Frank  in  Bond  Street  onlj" 
yesterday  ;  but  he  crossed  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  way. 
He  had  on  goloshes,  and  is  grown  very  fat  and  pale.  He  has 
shaved  off'  his  moustaches,  and  instead,  wears  a  respirator. 
He  has  taken  his  name  oflT  all  his  (^lubs,  and  lives  very  grimly 
in  Baker  Street.  Well,  ladies,  no  doubt  you  say  he  is  right: 
and  what  are  the  odds,  so  long  as  you  are  happy? 


DENNIS  HAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


There  was  an  odious  Irishwoman  and  her  daughter  who 
used  to  frequent  the  Royal  Hotel"  at  Leamington  some  years 
ago,  and  who  went  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Major  Gam.  Gam 
had  been  a  distinguished  officer  in  his  Majesty's  service,  whom 
nothing  but  death  and  his  own  amiable  wife  could  overcome. 
The  widow  mourned  her  husband  in  the  most  becoming  bomba- 
zine she  could  muster,  and  had  at  least  half  an  inch  of  lamp- 
black round  the  immense  visiting-tickets  which  she  left  at  the 
houses  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  her  friends. 

Some  of  us,  I  am  sorrj^  to  say,  used  to  call  her  Mrs.  Major 
Gammon  ;  for  if  the  wortlw  widow  had  a  propensity,  it  was  to 
talk  largely  of  herself  and  family  (of  her  own  family,  for  she 
held  her  husband's  very  cheap),  and  of  the  wonders  of  her 
paternal  mansion,  Molloj  ville,  county  of  Mayo.  She  was  of  the 
Molloys  of  that  county  ;  and  though  I  never  heard  of  the  family 
before,  I  have  little  doubt,  from  what  Mrs.  Major  Gam  stated, 
that  the}^  were  the  most  ancient  and  illustrious  famil}'  of  that 
part  of  Ireland.  I  remember  there  came  down  to  see  his  aunt 
a  young  fellow  with  huge  red  whiskers  and  tight  nankeens,  a 
green  coat  and  an  awful  breastpin,  who,  after  two  da}'s'  stay  at 

the  Spa,  proposed  marriage  to  Miss  S  ,  or,  in  default,  a  duel 

with  her  father ;  and  who  drove  a  flash  curricle  with  a  bay  and 
a  gray,  and  who  was  presented  with  much  pride  by  Mrs.  Gam 
as  Castlereagh  Molloy  of  Molloj'ville.  We  all  agreed  that  he 
was  the  most  insufferable  snob  of  the  whole  season,  and  were 
delighted  when  a  bailiff  came  down  in  search  of  him. 

Well,  this  is  all  I  know  personally  of  the  Mollo3'ville  family  ; 
but  at  the  house  if  3'ou  met  the  Widow  Gam,  and  talked  on  an}' 
subject  in  life,  you  were  sure  to  hear  of  it.  If  you  asked  her 
to  have  pease  at  dinner,  she  would  say,     Oh,  sir,  after  the 


252 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


pease  at  MoUoyville,  I  reall}^  don't  care  for  any  others,  — do  I, 
dearest  Jemima?  We  always  had  a  dish  in  the  month  of  June, 
when  my  father  gave  his  head  gardener  a  guinea  (we  had  three 
at  MolIo3^ville),  and  sent  him  with  his  compliments  and  a  quart 
of  pease  to  our  neighbor,  dear  Lord  Marrowfat.  What  a  sweet 
place  Marrowfat  Park  is  !  isn't  it,  Jemima  ?  "  If  a  carriage 
passed  by  the  window,  Mrs.  Major  Gammon  would  be  sure  to  tell 
3  0U  that  there  were  three  carriages  at  MoUoyville,  "the  barouche, 
the  chawiot,  and  the  covered  cyar."  In  the  same  manner  she 
would  favor  you  with  the  number  and  names  of  the  footmen 
of  the  establishment ;  and  on  a  visit  to  Warwick  Castle  (for 
this  bustling  woman  made  one  in  every  part}^  of  pleasure  that 
was  formed  from  the  hotel) ,  she  gave  us  to  understand  that  the 
great  walk  by  the  river  was  altogether  inferior  to  the  principal 
avenue  of  MoUoyville  Park.  I  should  not  have  been  able  to  tell 
so  much  about  Mrs.  Gam  and  her  daughter,  but  that,  between 
ourselves,  I  was  particularly  sweet  upon  a  young  lad}^  at  the 
time,  whose  papa  lived  at  the  Royal,"  and  was  under  the  care 
of  Dr.  Jephson. 

The  Jemima  appealed  to  by  Mrs.  Gam  in  the  above  sentence 
was,  of  course,  her  daughter,  apostrophized  by  her  mother, 
Jemima,  my  soul's  darhng  !  "  or  Jemima,  my  blessed  child  !  " 
or  Jemima,  my  own  love  ! "  The  sacrifices  that  Mrs.  Gam 
had  made  for  that  daughter  were,  she  said,  astonishing.  The 
money  she  had  spent  in  masters  upon  her,  the  illnesses  through 
which  she  had  nursed  her,  the  inetfable  love  the  mother  bore 
her,  were  only  known  to  heaven,  Mrs.  Gam  said.  They  used 
to  come  into  the  room  with  their  arms  round  each  other's  waists  : 
at  dinner  between  the  courses  the  mother  would  sit  with  one 
hand  locked  in  her  daughter's  ;  and  if  onl}^  two  or  three  young 
men  were  present  at  the  time,  would  be  pretty  sure  to  kiss  her 
Jemima  more  than  once  during  the  time  whilst  the  bohea  was 
poured  out. 

As  for  Miss  Gam,  if  she  was  not  handsome,  candor  forbids 
me  to  say  she  was  ugly.  She  was  neither  one  nor  t'other. 
She  was  a  person  who  wore  ringlets  and  a  band  round  her  fore- 
head ;  she  knew  four  songs,  which  became  rather  tedious  at 
the  end  of  a  couple  of  months'  acquaintance  ;  she  had  exces- 
sively bare  shoulders  ;  she  inclined  to  wear  numbers  of  cheap 
ornaments,  rings,  brooches,  ferronieres^  smelling-bottles,  and 
was  always,  we  thought,  very  smartly  dressed  :  though  old  Mrs. 
L^^nx  hinted  that  her  gowns  and  her  mother's  were  turned  over 
and  over  again,  and  that  her  eyes  were  almost  put  out  by  darn- 
ing stockings. 


DENNIS  HAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


253 


These  eyes  Miss  Gam  had  very  large,  though  rather  red  and 
weak,  and  used  to  roll  them  about  at  every  eligible  unmarried 
man  in  the  place.  But  though  the  widow  subscribed  to  all  the 
balls,  though  she  hired  a  fl}'  to  go  to  the  meet  of  the  hounds, 
though  she  was  constant  at  church,  and  Jemima  sang  louder 
than  any  person  there  except  the  clerk,  and  though,  probably, 
any  person  who  made  her  a  happy  husband  would  be  invited 
down  to  enjoy  the  three  footmen,  gardeners,  and  carriages  at 
MoUoyville,  yet  no  English  gentleman  was  found  sufficiently 
audacious  to  propose.  Old  Lynx  used  to  say  that  the  pair  had 
been  at  Tunbridge,  Harrogate,  Brighton,  Ramsgate,  Chelten- 
ham, for  this  eight  years  past ;  where  they  had  met,  it  seemed, 
with  no  better  fortune.  Indeed,  the  widow  looked  rather  high 
for  her  blessed  child  :  and  as  she  looked  with  the  contempt 
which  no  small  numl)er  of  Irish  people  feel  upon  all  persons 
who  get  their  bread  by  labor  or  commerce  ;  and  as  she  was  a 
person  whose  energetic  manners,  costume,  and  brogue  were 
not  much  to  the  taste  of  quiet  English  country  gentlemen, 
Jemima  —  sweet,  spotless  flower  —  still  remained  on  her  hands, 
a  thought  withered,  perhaps,  and  seedy. 

Now,  at  this  time,  the  120th  Regiment  was  quartered  at 
Weedon  Barracks,  and  with  the  corps  was  a  certain  Assistant- 
Surgeon  Haggart}',  a  large,  lean,  tough,  raw-boned  man,  with 
big  hands,  knock-knees,  and  carroty  whiskers,  and,  withal,  as 
honest  a  creature  as  ever  handled  a  lancet.  Haggarty,  as  his 
name  imports,  was  of  the  very  same  nation  as  Mrs.  Gam,  and, 
what  is  more,  the  honest  fellow  had  some  of  the  peculiarities 
which  belonged  to  the  widow,  and  bragged  about  his  family 
almost  as  much  as  she  did.  I  do  not  know  of  what  particular 
part  of  Ireland  they  were  kings,  but  monarchs  they  must  have 
been,  as  have  been  the  ancestors  of  so  many  thousand  Hiber- 
nian families  ;  but  they  had  been  men  of  no  small  consideration 
in  Dublin,  "where  my  father,"  Haggart}"  said,  ''is  as  well 
known  as  King  WiUiam's  statue,  and  where  he  '  rowls  his 
carriage,  too,'  let  me  tell  3^e." 

Hence,  Hnggarty  was  called  b}^  the  wags  "  Rowl  the  car- 
riage," and  several  of  them  made  inquiries  of  Mrs.  Gam  re- 
garding him:  ''Mrs.  Gam,  when  you  used  to  go  up  from 
MoUoyville  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  balls,  and  had  your  town- 
house  in  Fitz William  Square,  used  you  to  meet  the  famous 
Doctor  Haggart}'  in  societ}^?" 

"Is  it  Surgeon  Haggarty  of  Gloucester  Street  ye  mean? 
The  black  Papist !  D'ye  suppose  that  the  Molloys  would  sit 
down  to  table  with  a  creature  of  that  sort  ?  " 


254 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


"Why,  isn't  he  the  most  famous  physician  in  Dublin,  and 
doesn't  he  rowl  his  carriage  there  ?  " 

"  The  horrid  wretch  !  He  keeps  a  shop,  I  tell  ye,  and  sends 
his  sons  out  with  the  medicine.  He's  got  four  of  them  off  into 
the  army,  Ulick  and  Phil,  and  Terence  and  Denny,  and  now 
it's  Charles  that  takes  out  the  physic.  But  how  should  I  know 
about  these  odious  creatures?  Their  mother  was  a  Burke,  of 
Burke's  Town,  county  Cavan,  and  brought  Surgeon  Haggarty 
two  thousand  pounds.  She  was  a  Protestant ;  and  I  am  sur- 
prised how  she  could  have  taken  up  with  a  horrid,  odious.  Pop- 
ish apothecary  ! " 

From  the  extent  of  the  widow's  information,  I  am  led  to 
suppose  that  the  inhabitants  of  Dubhn  are  not  less  anxious 
about  their  neighbors  than  are  the  natives  of  English  cities ; 
and  I  think  it  is  very  probable  that  Mrs.  Gam's  account  of  the 
3^oung  Haggarties  who  carried  out  the  medicine  is  perfectly  cor- 
rect, for  a  lad  in  the  120th  made  a  caricature  of  Haggart}^ 
coming  out  of  a  chemist's  shop  with  an  oil-cloth  basket  under 
his  arm,  which  set  the  worthy  surgeon  in  such  a  fury  that  there 
would  have  been  a  duel  between  him  and  the  ensign,  could  the 
fiery  doctor  have  had  his  way. 

Now,  Dionysius  Haggarty  was  of  an  exceedingly'  inflamma- 
ble temperament,  and  it  chanced  that  of  all  the  invalids,  the 
visitors,  the  j^oung  squires  of  Warwickshire,  the  young  manufac- 
turers from  Birmingham,  the  young  officers  from  the  barracks  — 
it  chanced,  unluckilj^  for  Miss  Gam  and  himself,  that  he  was 
the  only  individual  who  was  in  the  least  smitten  b}-  her  personal 
charms.  He  was  very  tender  and  modest  about  his  love,  how- 
ever, for  it  must  be  owned  that  he  respected  Mrs.  *Gam  hugel}", 
and  fully  admitted,  like  a  good  simple  fellow  as  he  was,  the  su- 
periorit}'  of  that  lady's  birth  and  breeding  to  his  own.  How 
could  he  hope  that  he,  a  humble  assistant-surgeon,  with  a  thou- 
sand pounds  his  aunt  Kitty  left  him  for  all  his  fortune,  —  how 
could  he  hope  that  one  of  the  race  of  Molloyville  would  ever 
condescend  to  marr}^  him  ? 

Inflamed,  however,  by  love,  and  inspired  hy  wine,  one  day 
at  a  picnic  at  Kenilworth,  Haggarty^,  whose  love  and  raptures 
were  the  talk  of  the  whole  regiment,  was  induced  by  his  waggish 
comrades  to  make  a  proposal  in  form. 

"  Are  you  aware,  Mr.  Haggarty,  that  you  are  speaking  to  a 
Molloy?"  was  all  the  reply  majestic  Mrs.  Gam  made  when, 
according  to  the  usual  formula,  the  fluttering  Jemima  referred 
her  suitor  to  "  mamma."  She  left  him  with  a  look  which  was 
meant  to  crush  the  poor  fellow  to  earth ;  she  gathered  up  her 


DENNIS  HAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


255 


cloak  and  bonnet,  and  precipitately  called  for  her  She 
took  care  to  tell  every  single  soul  in  Leamington  that  the  son 
of  the  odious  Papist  apothecary  had  had  the  audacity  to  pro- 
pose for  her  daughter  (indeed  a  proposal,  coming  from  whatever 
quarter  it  may,  does  no  harm),  and  left  Ilaggarty  in  a  state  of 
extreme  depression  and  despair. 

His  down-heartedness,  indeed,  surprised  most  of  his  ac- 
quaintances in  and  out  of  the  regiment,  for  the  young  lady  was 
no  beauty,  and  a  doubtful  fortune,  and  Dennis  was  a  man 
outwardly  of  an  unromantic  turn,  who  seemed  to  have  a  great 
deal  more  liking  for  beefsteak  and  whiske3^-punch  than  for 
women,  however  fascinating. 

But  there  is  no  doubt  this  shy,  uncouth,  rough  fellow  had  a 
warmer  and  more  faithful  heart  hid  within  him  than  man}^ 
a  dandy  who  is  as  handsome  as  Apollo.  I,  for  my  part,  never 
can  understand  wh}^  a  man  falls  in  love,  and  heartily  give  him 
credit  for  so  doing,  never  mind  with  what  or  whom.  That,  I 
take  to  be  a  point  quite  as  much  beyond  an  individual's  own 
control  as  the  catching  of  the  small-pox  or  the  color  of  his  hair. 
To  the  surprise  of  all,  Assistant-Surgeon  Dionysius  Haggarty 
was  deepl}^  and  seriously  in  love ;  and  I  am  told  that  one  da}^ 
he  very  nearh^  killed  the  before-mentioned  young  ensign  with 
a  carving-knife,  for  venturing  to  make  a  second  caricature, 
representing  Lady  Gammon  and  Jemima  in  a  fantastical  park, 
surrounded  by  three  gardeners,  three  carriages,  three  footmen, 
and  the,  covered  cyar.  He  would  have  no  joking  concerning 
them.  He  became  moody  and  quarrelsome  of  habit.  He  was 
for  some  time  much  more  in  the  surgerj^  and  hospital  than  in 
the  mess.  He  gave  up  the  eating,  for  the  most  part,  of  those 
vast  quantities  of  beef  and  pudding,  for  which  his  stomach  had 
used  to  afford  such  ample  and  swift  accommodation  ;  and  when 
the  cloth  was  drawn,  instead  of  taking  twelve  tumblers,  and 
singing  Irish  melodies,  as  he  used  to  do,  in  a  horrible  cracked 
yelling  voice,  he  would  retire  to  his  own  apartment,  or  gloomily 
pace  the  barrack-yard,  or  madl}-  whip  and  spur  a  gra}'  mare  he 
had  on  the  road  to  Leamington,  where  his  Jemima  (although 
invisible  for  him)  still  dwelt. 

The  season  at  Leamington  coming  to  a  conclusion  by  the 
withdrawal  of  the  young  fellows  who  frequented  that  watering- 
place,  the  Widow  Gam  retired  to  her  usual  quarters  for  the 
other  months  of  the  year.  Where  these  quarters  were  I  think 
we  have  no  right  to  ask,  for  I  believe  she  had  quarrelled  with 
her  brother  at  Molloyville,  and  besides,  was  a  great  deal  too 
proud  to  be  a  burden  on  anybody. 


256 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Not  only  did  the  widow  quit  Leamington,  but  very  soon 
afterwards  the  120th  received  its  marching  orders,  and  left 
Weedon  and  Warwickshire.  Haggarty's  appetite  was  by  this 
time  partiall}'  restored,  but  his  love  was  not  altered,  and  his 
humor  was  still  morose  and  gloom3\  ^  informed  that  at 
this  period  of  his  life  he  wrote  some  poems  relative  to  his  un- 
happ3^  passion  ;  a  wild  set  of  verses  of  several  lengths,  and  in 
his  handwriting,  being  discovered  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  in  which 
a  pitch-plaster  was  wrapped  up,  which  Lieutenant  and  Adjutant 
Wheezer  was  compelled  to  put  on  for  a  cold. 

Fancy  then,  three  years  afterwards,  the  surprise  of  all 
Haggarty's  acquaintances  on  reading  in  the  public  papers  the 
following  announcement :  — 

"  Married,  at  Monkstown  on  the  12th  instant,  Dionysius  Haggarty,  Esq., 
of  H.  M.  120th  Foot,  to  Jemima  Amelia  Wilhelmina  MoUoy,  daughter  of 
the  late  Major  Lancelot  Gam,  R.M.,  and  granddaughter  of  the  late  and 
niece  of  the  present  Burke  Bodkin  Blake  Molloy,  Esq.,  Molloy  ville,  county 
Mayo." 

"  Has  the  course  of  true  love  at  last  begun  to  run  smooth?  '* 
thought  I,  as  I  laid  down  the  paper ;  and  the  old  times,  and 
the  old  leering,  bragging  widow,  and  the  high  shoulders  of  her 
daughter,  and  the  jolly  days  with  the  120th,  and  Dr.  Jephson's 
one-horse  chaise,  and  the  Warwickshire  hunt,  and  —  and  Louisa 

S  ,  but  never  mind  her^  —  came  back  to  my  mind.  Has 

that  good-natured,  simple  fellow  at  last  met  with  his  reward? 
Well,  if  he  has  not  to  marry  the  mother-in-law  too,  he  may  get 
on  well  enough. 

Another  year  announced  the  retirement  of  Assistant-Surgeon 
Haggarty  from  the  120th,  where  he  was  replaced  by  Assistant- 
Surgeon  Angus  Rothsay  Leech,  a  Scotchman,  probably  ;  with 
whom  I  have  not  the  least  acquaintance,  and  who  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  this  little  histor3\ 

Still  more  years  passed  on,  during  which  time  I  will  not  say 
that  I  kept  a  constant  watch  upon  the  fortunes  of  Mr.  Hag- 
garty and  his  lady,  for,  perhaps,  if  the  truth  were  known,  I 
never  thought  for  a  moment  about  them  ;  until  one  da}',  being 
at  Kingstown,  near  Dublin,  dawdling  on  the  beach,  and  staring 
at  the  Hill  of  Ilowth,  as  most  people  at  that  watering-place  do, 
I  saw  coming  towards  me  a  tall  gaunt  man,  with  a  pair  of 
bushy  red  whiskers,  of  which  I  thought  I  had  seen  the  like  in 
former  years,  and  a  face  which  could  be  no  other  than  Hag- 
garty's.   It  was  Haggarty,  ten  years  older  than  when  we  last 


DENNIS  HAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


257 


met,  and  greatl}^  more  grim  and  thin.  He  had  on  one  shoulder 
a  young  gentleman  in  a  dirty  tartan  costume,  and  a  face  ex- 
ceedingly like  his  own  peeping  from  under  a  battered  plume  of 
black  feathers,  while  with  his  other  hand  he  was  dragging  a 
light  green  go-cart,  in  which  reposed  a  female  infant  of  some 
two  years  old.  Both  were  roaring  with  great  power  of 
lungs. 

As  soon  as  Dennis  saw  me,  his  face  lost  the  dull,  puzzled 
expression  which  had  seemed  to  characterize  it ;  he  (Iropped 
the  pole  of  the  go-cart  from  one  hand,  and  his  son  from  the 
other,  and  came  jumping  forward  to  greet  me  with  all  his  might, 
leaving  his  progeny  roaring  in  the  road. 

''Bless  my  sowl,"  says  he,  ''sure  it's  Fitz-Boodle?  Fitz, 
don't  you  remember  me?  Dennis  Haggarty  of  the  120th? 
Leamington,  you  know?  Mollo}',  my  boy,  hould  3'our  tongue, 
and  stop  your  screeching,  and  Jemima's  too  ;  d'ye  hear?  Well, 
it  does  good  to  sore  eyes  to  see  an  old  face.  How  fat  you're 
grown,  Fitz  ;  and  were  ye  ever  in  Ireland  before  ?  and  a' n't  ye 
delighted  with  it?    Confess,  now,  isn't  it  beautiful?" 

This  question  regarding  the  merits  of  their  country,  which 
I  have  remarked  is  put  by  most  Irish  persons,  being  answered 
in' a  satisfactor}^  manner,  and  the  shouts  of  the  infants  appeased 
from  an  apple-stall  hard  by,  Dennis  and  1  talked  of  old  times  ; 
I  congratulated  him  on  his  marriage  with  the  lovely  girl  w^hom 
we  all  admired,  and  hoped  he  had  a  fortune  with  her,  and  so 
forth.  His  appearance,  however,  did  not  bespeak  a  great  for- 
tune :  he  had  an  old  gray  hat,  short  old  trousers,  an  old  waist- 
coat with  regimental  buttons,  and  patched  Blucher  boots,  such 
as  are  not  usually  sported  b}'  persons  in  easy  life. 

"  Ah  !  "  says  he,  with  a  sigh,  in  reply  to  my  queries,  "  times 
are  changed  since  them  days,  Fitz-Boodle.  My  wife's  not 
not  what  she  was  —  the  beautiful  creature  3'ou  knew  her. 
M0II03',  m}'  boy,  run  off  in  a  hurr}-  to  3^our  mamma,  and  tell 
her  an  Einglish  gentleman  is  coming  home  to  dine  ;  for  you'll 
dine  with  me,  Fitz,  in  course?"  And  I  agreed  to  partake  of 
that  meal ;  though  Master  M0II03"  altogether  declined  to  obey 
his  papa's  orders  with  respect  to  announcing  the  stranger. 

"  Well,  I  must  announce  you  myself,"  said  Haggarty,  with 
a  smile.  "Come,  it's  just  dinner-time,  and  m}'  little  cottage 
is  not  a  hundred  yards  off."  Accordinglv,  we  all  marched  in 
procession  to  Dennis's  little  cottage,  which  was  one  of  a  row 
and  a  half  of  one-storied  houses,  with  little  court-yards  before 
them,  and  mostl}'  with  very  fine  names  on  the  door-posts  of 
each.    "Surgeon  Haggart}^"  was  emblazoned   on  Dennis's 

17 


258 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


gate,  on  a  stained  green  copper-plate ;  and,  not  content  with 
this,  on  the  door-post  above  the  bell  was  an  oval  with  the  in- 
scription of  "New  MoUoyville."  The  bell  was  broken,  of 
course  ;  the  court,  or  garden-path,  was  mould}- ,  weedy,  seedy ; 
there  were  some  dirt}'  roclfs,  b}^  way  of  ornament,  round  a 
faded  grass-plat  in  the  centre,  some  clothes  and  rags  hanging 
out  of  most  part  of  the  windows  of  New  Molloj^ville,  the  imme- 
diate entrance  to  which  was  by  a  battered  scraper  under  a 
broken  trellis- work,  up  which  a  withered  creeper  dechned  any 
longer  to  climb. 

"Small  but  snug,"  says  Haggart\' :  "  Til  lead  the  way, 
Fitz  ;  put  3^our  hat  on  the  flower-pot  there,  and  turn  to  the  left 
into  the  drawing-room."  A  fog  of  onions  and  turf-smoke  filled 
the  whole  of  the  house,  and  gave  signs  that  dinner  was  not  far 
off.  Far  off?  You  could  hear  it  frizzhng  in  the  kitchen,  where 
the  maid  was  also  endeavoring  to  hush  the  crying  of  a  third 
refractory  child.  But  as  we  entered,  all  three  of  Haggarty's 
darlings  were  in  full  war. 

"Is  it  3^ou,  Dennis?"  cried  a  sharp  raw  voice,  from  a  dark 
corner  in  the  drawing-room  to  which  we  were  introduced,  and 
in  which  a  dirty  tablecloth  was  laid  for  dinner,  some  bottles  of 
porter  and  a  cokl  mutton-bone  being  laid  out  on  a  rickety 
grand-piano  hard  by.  "  Ye're  always  late,  Mr.  Haggarty. 
Have  you  brought  the  whiskey  from  Nowlan's?  I'll  go  bail 
ye've  not  now." 

' '  My  dear,  I've  brought  an  old  friend  of  yours  and  mine  to 
take  pot-luck  with  us  to-da}^"  said  Dennis. 

"When  is  he  to  come?"  said  the  lady.  At  which  speech 
I  was  rather  surprised,  for  I  stood  before  her. 

"Here  he  is,  Jemima  m}^  love,"  answered  Dennis,  looking 
at  me.  "  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle  ;  don't  you  remember  liim  in  War- 
wickshire, darling?" 

"Mr.  Fitz-Boodle!  I  am  very  glad  to  see  him,"  said  the 
lady,  rising  and  curtsying  with  much  cordialit3\ 

Mrs.  Haggarty  was  blind. 

Mrs.  Haggarty  was  not  only  blind,  but  it  was  evident  that 
small-pox  had  been  the  cause  of  her  loss  of  vision.  Her  eyes 
were  bound  with  a  bandage,  her  features  were  entirel}'  swollen, 
scarred,  and  distorted  by  the  horrible -effects  of  the  malady. 
She  had  been  knitting  in  a  corner  when  we  entered,  and  was 
wrapped  in  a  very  dirt}^  bedgown.  Her  voice  to  me  was  quite 
different  to  that  in  which  she  addressed  her  husband.  She 
spoke  to  Haggarty  in  broad  Irish  :  she  addressed  me  in  that 
most  odious  of  all  languages  —  Irish-English,  endeavoring  to 


DENNTS  IIAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


259 


the  utmost  to  disguise  her  brogue,  and  to  speak  with  the  true 
dawdling  distingue  Iilnglish  air. 

"Are  you  long  in  1-a-land?"  said  the  poor  creature  in  this 
accent.  You  must  find  it  a  sad  ba'ba'ous  place,  Mr.  Fitz- 
Boodle,  Fm  shu-ah  !  It  was  vary  kaind  of  you  to  come  upon 
us  en  famille  and  accept  a  dinner  sans  ceremonie,  Mr.  II ag- 
garty,  I  hope  you'll  put  the  waine  into  alee,  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle 
must  be  melted  with  this  hot  weathah.'' 

For  some  time  she  conducted  the  conversation  in  this  polite 
strain,  and  I  was  obliged  to  say  in  reply  to  a  query  of  hers, 
that  I  did  not  find  her  the  least  altered,  though  I  should  never 
have  recognized  her  but  for  this  rencontre.  She  told  Haggarty 
with  a  significant  air  to  get  the  wine  from  the  cellah,  and  whis- 
pered to  me  that  he  was  his  own  butlah  ;  and  the  poor  fellow, 
taking  the  hint,  scudded  away  into  the  town  for  a  pound  of 
veal  cutlets  and  a  couple  of  bottles  of  wine  from  the  tavern. 

''Will  the  childhren  get  their  potatoes  and  butther  here?" 
said  a  barefoot  girl,  with  long  black  hair  flowing  over  her  face, 
which  she  thrust  in  at  the  door. 

"Let  them  sup  in  the  nursery,  Elizabeth,  and  send  —  ah! 
Edwards  to  me." 

"Is  it  cook  3^ou  mane,  ma'am?"  said  the  girl. 

"  Send  her  at  once  !  "  shrieked  the  unfortunate  woman  ;  and 
the  noise  of  frying  presently  ceasing,  a  hot  woman  made  her 
appearance,  wiping  her  brows  with  her  apron,  and  asking,  with 
an  accent  decidedly  Hibernian,  what  the  misthress  wanted. 

"  Lead  me  up  to  my  dressing-room,  Edwards :  I  reall}'  am 
not  fit  to  be  seen  in  this  dishabille  b}^  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle." 

"Fait'  I  can't!"  says  Edwards;  "sure  the  masther's  out 
at  the  butcher's,  and  can't  look  to  the  kitchen  fire  !  " 

"Nonsense,  I  must  go !  "  cried  Mrs.  Haggart}^ ;  and  so 
Edwards,  putting  on  a  resigned  air,  and  giving  her  arm  and 
face  a  further  rub  with  her  apron,  held  out  her  arm  to  Mrs. 
Dennis,  and  the  pair  went  up  stairs. 

She  left  me  to  indulge  my  reflections  for  half  an  hour,  at 
the  end  of  which  period  she  came  down  stairs  dressed  in  an 
old  yellow  satin,  with  the  poor  shoulders  exposed  just  as  much 
as  ever.  She  had  mounted  a  tawdry  cap,  which  Haggarty  him- 
self must  have  selected  for  her.  She  had  all  sorts  of  necklaces, 
bracelets,  and  earrings  in  gold,  in  garnets,  in  mother-of-pearl, 
in  ormolu.  She  brought  in  a  furious  savor  of  musk,  which 
drove  the  odors  of  onions  and  turf-smoke  before  it ;  and  she 
waved  across  her  wretched  angular,  mean,  scarred  features, 
an  old  cambric  handkerchief  with  a  yellow  lace  border. 


260 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


"And  so  you  would  have  known  me  anywhere,  Mr.  Fitz- 
Boodle?"  said  she,  with  a  grin  that  was  meant  to  be  most 
fascinating.  "  I  was  sure  you  would  ;  for  though  my  dreadful 
illness  deprived  me  of  m}^  sight,  it  is  a  mercy  that  it  did  not 
change  my  features  or  complexion  at  all !  " 

This  mortification  had  been  spared  the  unhappy  woman  ; 
but  I  don't  know  whether,  with  all  her  vanit}^,  her  infernal 
pride,  folly,  and  selfishness,  it  was  charitable  to  leave  her  in 
her  error. 

Yet  why  correct  her?  There  is  a  quality  in  certain  persons 
which  is  above  all  advice,  exposure,  or  correction.  Only  let 
a  man  or  woman  have  dulness  sufficient,  and  they  need  bow 
to  no  extant  authority.  A  dullard  recognizes  no  betters  ;  a 
dullard  can't  see  that  he  is  in  the  wrong ;  a  dullard  has  no 
scruples  of  conscience,  no  doubts  of  pleasing,  or  succeeding, 
or  doing  right ;  no  qualms  for  other  people's  feelings,  no  re- 
spect but  for  the  fool  himself.  How  can  you  make  a  fool  per- 
ceive that  he  is  a  fool?  Such  a  personage  can  no  more  see 
his  own  folly  than  he  can  see  his  own  ears.  And  the  great  qual- 
it}'  of  Dulness  is  to  be  unalterabl}^  contented  with  itself.  What 
m^Tiads  of  souls  are  there  of  this  admirable  sort,  —  selfish, 
stingy,  ignorant,  passionate,  brutal ;  bad  sons,  mothers,  fathers, 
never  known  to  do  kind  actions  ! 

To  pause,  however,  in  this  disquisition,  which  was  carrying 
us  far  off  Kingstown,  New  Molloj'ville,  Ireland,  —  nay,  into 
the  wide  world  wherever  Dulness  inhabits,  let  it  be  stated  that 
Mrs.  Haggart}^  from  my  brief  acquaintance  with  her  and  her 
mother,  was  of  the  order  of  persons  just  mentioned.  There 
was  an  air  of  conscious  merit  about  her,  very  hard  to  swallow 
along  with  the  infamous  dinner  poor  Dennis  managed,  after 
much  delay,  to  get  on  the  table.  She  did  not  fail  to  invite  me 
to  Molloyville,  where  she  said  her  cousin  would  be  charmed 
to  see  me  ;  and  she  told  me  almost  as  many  anecdotes  about 
that  place  as  her  mother  used  to  impart  in  former  days.  I 
observed,  moreover,  that  Dennis  cut  her  the  favorite  pieces 
of  the  beefsteak,  that  she  ate  thereof  with  great  gusto,  and  that 
she  drank  with  similar  eagerness  of  the  various  strong  liquors  at 
table.  We  Irish  ladies  are  all  fond  of  a  leetle  glass  of  punch," 
she  said,  with  a  playful  air,  and  Dennis  mixed  her  a  powerful 
tumbler  of  such  violent  grog  as  I  myself  could  swallow  only  with 
some  difficulty.  She  talked  of  her  sufferings  a  great  deal,  of 
her  sacrifices,  of  the  luxuries  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed 
before  marriage,  — in  a  word,  of  a  hundred  of  those  themes  on 


DENNIS  PIAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


261 


which  some  ladies  are  in  the  custom  of  enlarging  when  they 
wish  to  plague  some  husbands. 

But  honest  Dennis,  far  from  being  angr}^  at  this  perpetual, 
wearisome,  impudent  recurrence  to  her  own  superiority,  rather 
encouraged  the  conversation  than  otherwise.  It  pleased  him 
to  hear  his  wife  discourse  about  her  merits  and  family  splen- 
dors. He  was  so  tlioroughly  beaten  down  and  Iienpecked,  that 
he,  as  it  were,  gloried  in  his  servitude,  and  fancied  that  his 
wife's  magnificence  reflected  credit  on  himself.  He  looked 
toward  me,  who  was  half  sick  of  the  woman  and  her  egotism, 
as  if  expecting  me  to  exhibit  the  deepest  sj^mpath}',  and  flung 
me  glances  across  the  table  as  much  as  to  say,  "  What  a  gifted 
creatiu'e  m}^  Jemima  is,  and  what  a  fine  fellow  I  am  to  be  in 
possession  of  her  !  "  When  the  children  came  down  she  scolded 
them  of  course,  and  dismissed  them  abruptly  (for  which  cir- 
cumstance, perhaps,  the  writer  of  these  pages  was  not  in  his 
heart  very  sorry),  and,  after  having  sat  a  preposterousl}^  long 
time,  left  us,  asking  whether  we  would  have  coffee  there  or  in 
her  boudoir. 

''Oh!  here  of  course,''  said  Dennis,  with  rather  a  troubled 
air,  and  in  about  ten  minutes  the  lovely  creature  was  led  back 
to  us  again  by  Edwards,"  and  the  coffee  made  its  appearance. 
After  coffee  her  husband  begged  her  to  let  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle 
hear  her  voice  :     He  longs  for  some  of  his  old  favorites." 

' '  No  !  do  you  ?  "  said  she  ;  and  was  led  in  triumph  to  the 
jingling  old  piano,  and  with  a  screechy,  wiry  voice,  sung  those 
very  abominable  old  ditties  which  I  had  heard  her  sing  at 
Leamington  ten  years  back. 

Haggarty,  as  she  sang,  flung  himself  back  in  the  chair  de- 
lighted. Husbands  always  are,  and  with  the  same  song,  one 
that  they  have  heard  when  they  were  nineteen  years  old,  proba- 
bly ;  most  Englishmen's  tunes  have  that  date,  and  it  is  rather 
affecting,  I  think,  to  hear  an  old  gentleman  of  sixt}^  or  seventy 
quavering  the  old  ditty  that  was  fresh  when  he  was  fresh  and 
in  his  prime.  If  he  has  a  musical  wife,  depend  on  it  he  thinks 
her  old  songs  of  1788  are  better  than  any  he  has  heard 
since  :  in  fact  he  has  heard  7ione  since.  When  the  old  couple 
are  in  high  good-humor  the  old  gentleman  will  take  the  old 
lady  round  the  waist,  and  say,  "My  dear,  do  sing  me  one  of 
your  own  songs,"  and  she  sits  down  and  sings  with  her  old 
voice,  and,  as  she  sings,  the  roses  of  her  youth  bloom  again 
for  a  moment.  Ranelagh  resuscitates,  and  she  is  dancing  a 
minuet  in  powder  and  a  train. 

This  is  another  digression.    It  was  occasioned  by  looking 


262 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


at  poor  Dennis's  face  while  his  wife  was  screeching  (and, 
believe  me,  the  former  was  the  most  pleasant  occupation). 
Bottom  tickled  by  the  fairies  could  not  have  been  in  greater 
ecstasies.  He  thought  the  music  was  divine  ;  and  had  further 
reason  for  exulting  in  it,  which  was,  that  his  wife  was  alwaj's 
in  a  good-humor  aftor  singing,  and  never  would  sing  but  in 
that  happy  frame  of  mind.  Dennis  had  hinted  so  much  in  our 
little  colloquy  during  the  ten  minutes  of  his  lady's  absence  in 
the  "  boudoir  ;  "  so,  at  the  conclusion  of  each  piece,  we  shouted 
"  Bravo  !  "  and  clapped  our  hands  like  mad. 

Such  was  my  insight  into  the  life  of  Surgeon  Dionysius 
Haggartj'  and  his  wife  ;  and  I  must  have  come  upon  him  at 
a  favorable  moment  too,  for  poor  Dennis  has  spoken,  sub- 
sequently, of  our  delightful  evening  at  Kingstown,  and  evi- 
dently thinks  to  this  day  that  his  friend  was  fascinated  by  the 
entertainment  there.  His  inward  economy  was  as  follows : 
he  had  his  half-pay,  a  thousand  pounds,  about  a  hundred  a 
year  that  his  father  left,  and  his  wife  had  sixty  pounds  a  year 
from  the  mother;  which  the  mother,  of  course,  never  paid. 
He  had  no  practice,  for  he  was  absorbed  in  attention  to  his 
Jemima  and  the  children,  whom  he  used  to  wash,  to  dress,  to 
carry  out,  to  walk,  or  to  ride,  as  we  have  seen,  and  who  could 
not  have  a  servant,  as  their  dear  blind  mother  could  never  be 
left  alone.  Mrs.  Haggart}',  a  great  invalid,  used  to  lie  in  bed 
till  one,  and  have  breakfast  and  hot  luncheon  there.  A  fifth 
part  of  his  income  was  spent  in  having  her  wheeled  about  in 
a  chair,  by  which  it  was  his  duty  to  walk  daily  for  an  allotted 
number  of  hours.  Dinner  would  ensue,  and  the  amateur  clerg3% 
who  abound  in  Ireland,  and  of  whom  Mrs.  Haggart}^  was  a 
great  admirer,  lauded  her  everywhere  as  a  model  of  resigna- 
tion and  virtue,  and  praised  beyond  measure  the  admirable 
piety  with  which  she  bore  her  sufferings. 

Well,  ever}^  man  to  his  taste.  It  did  not  certainlj-  appear 
to  me  that  she  was  the  martjr  of  the  fauiil3\ 

"The  circumstances  of  m}^  marriage  with  Jemima,"  Dennis 
said  to  me,  in  some  after  conversations  we  had  on  this  interest- 
ing subject,  were  the  most  romantic  and  touching  you  can 
conceive.  You  saw  what  an  impression  the  dear  girl  had  made 
upon  me  when  we  were  at  Weedon  ;  for  from  tiie  first  da}' 
I  set  eyes  on  her,  and  heard  lier  sing  her  delightful  song  of 
'  Dark-eyed  Maiden  of  Araby,'  I  felt,  and  said  to  Turniquet 
of  ours,  that  very  niglit,  that  she  was  the  dark-eyed  maid  of 
Aral:)y  for  me,  —  not  that  she  was,  you  know,  for  she  was  born 
in  Shropshire.    But  I  felt  that  I  had  seen  the  woman  who  was 


DENNIS  HAG G ARTY'S  WIFE. 


263 


to  make  me  happy  or  miserable  for  life.  You  know  how  I 
proposed  for  her  at  Kenilworth,  and  how  I  was  rejected,  and 
how  I  almost  shot  myself  in  consequence,  —  no,  you  (]on't 
know  that,  for  I  said  nothing  about  it  to  any  one,  but  I  can 
tell  you  it  was  a  very  near  thing ;  and  a  \ery  lucky  thing  for 
me  I  didn't  do  it:  for,  — would  you  believe  it?  —  the  dear  girl 
was  in  love  with  me  all  the  time." 

Was  she  really?"  said  I,  who  recollected  that  Miss  Gam's 
love  of  those  days  showed  itself  in  a  very  singular  manner : 
but  the  fact  is,  when  women  are  most  in  love  they  most  dis- 
guise it. 

''Over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  poor  Dennis,"  resumed 
that  worth}"  fellow,  ''  who'd  ever  have  thought  it?  But  I  have 
it  from  the  best  authorit}^  from  her  own  mother,  with  wliom 
I'm  not  over  and  above  good  friends  now  ;  but  of  this  fact  she 
assured  me,  and  I'll  tell  3'ou  when  and  how. 

''  We  were  quartered  at  Cork  three  years  after  we  were  at 
Weedon,  and  it  was  our  last  3'ear  at  home  ;  and  a  great  mercy 
that  my  dear  girl  spoke  in  time,  or  where  should  we  have  been 
now  ?  Well,  one  day,  marching  home  from  parade,  I  saw  a  lady 
seated  at  an  open  window  by  another  who  seemed  an  invalid, 
and  the  lady  at  the  window,  who  was  dressed  in  the  profound- 
est  mourning,  cried  out,  with  a  scream,  '  Gracious  heavens  ! 
it's  Mr.  Haggarty  of  the  120th.' 

"  '  Sure  I  know  that  voice,'  says  I  to  Whiskerton. 
'  It's  a  great  mercy  you  don't  know  it  a  deal  too  well,'  says 
he :  '  it's  Lad}"  Gammon.  She's  on  some  husband-hunting 
scheme,  depend  on  it,  for  that  daughter  of  hers.  She  was  at 
Bath  last  year  on  the  same  errand,  and  at  Cheltenham  the  year 
before,  where,  heaven  bless  you !  she's  as  well  known  as  the 
"Hen  and  Chickens."' 

''Til  thank  you  not  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  Miss 
Jemima  Gam,'  said  I  to  Whiskerton  ;  '  she's  of  one  of  the 
first  families  in  Ireland,  and  whoever  says  a  word  against 
a  woman  I  once  proposed  for,  insults  me,  —  do  you  under- 
stand?' 

"  'Well,  marr}'  her,  if  you  like,'  says  Whiskerton,  quite 
peevish  :  '  marry  her,  and  be  hanged  ! ' 

"  Marry  her !  the  ver}'  idea  of  it  set  m}^  brain  a-whirling, 
and  made  me  a  thousand  times  more  mad  than  I  am  by  nature. 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  walked  up  the  hill  to  the  parade-ground 
that  afternoon,  and  with  a  beating  heart  too.  I  came  to  the 
widow's  house.  It  was  called  '  New  Mollo3'ville,'  as  this  is. 
Wherever  she  takes  a  house  for  six  months,  she  calls  it  '  New 


264 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


Molloyville  ; '  and  has  had  one  in  Mallow,  in  Bandon,  in  Sligo, 
in  Castlebar,  in  Fermoy,  in  Drogheda,  and  the  deuce  knows 
where  besides  :  but  the  blinds  were  down,  and  though  I  thought 
I  saw  somebody  behind  'em,  no  notice  was  taken  of  poor  Dennj^ 
Haggarty,  and  I  paced  up  and  down  all  mess-time  in  hopes  of 
catching  a  glimpse  of  Jemima,  but  in  vain.  The  next  da}^  I 
was  on  the  ground  again  ;  1  was  just  as  much  in  love  as  ever, 
that's  the  fact.  I'd  never  been  in  that  wa}^  before,  look  you ; 
and  when  once  caught,  I  knew  it  was  for  life. 

There's  no  use  in  telUng  you  how  long  I  beat  about  the 
bush,  but  when  I  did  get  admittance  to  the  house  (it  was 
through  the  means  of  young  Castlereagh  Molloy,  whom  you 
may  remember  at  Leamington,  and  who  was  at  Cork  for  the 
regatta,  and  used  to  dine  at  our  mess,  and  had  taken  a  mighty 
fancy  to  me)  — when  I  did  get  into  the  house,  I  say,  I  rushed 
in  medias  res  at  once  :  I  couldn't  keep  myself  quiet,  my  heart 
was  too  full. 

''Oh,  Fitz  !  I  shall  never  forget  the  day, — the  moment  I 
was  inthrojuiced  into  the  dthrawing-room  "  (as  he  began  to  be 
agitated,  Dennis's  brogue  broke  out  with  greater  richness  than 
ever ;  but  though  a  stranger  ma}"  catch,  and  repeat  from  mem- 
ory, a  few  words,  it  is  next  to  impossible  for  him  to  keep  up  a 
conversation  in  Irish,  so  that  we  had  best  give  up  all  attempts 
to  imitate  Dennis).  ''  When  I  saw  old  Mother  Gam,"  said  he, 
''  my  feelings  overcame  me  all  at  once.  I  rowled  down  on  the 
ground,  sir,  as  if  I'd  been  hit  by  a  musket-ball.  '  Dearest 
madam,'  says  I,  '  I'll  die  if  you  don't  give  me  Jemima.' 

''  '  Heavens,  Mr.  Haggarty  ! '  says  she,  '  how  3'ou  seize  me 
with  surprise !  Castlereagh,  my  dear  nephew,  had  you  not 
better  leave  us  ? '  and  away  he  went,  lighting  a  cigar,  and 
leaving  me  still  on  the  floor. 

''  '  Rise,  Mr.  Haggarty,'  continued  the  widow.  '  I  will  not 
attempt  to  deny  that  this  constancy  towards  my  daughter 
is  extremely  affecting,  however  sudden  3'our  present  appeal 
may  be.  I  will  not  attempt  to  deny  that,  perhaps,  Jemima 
may  have  a  similar  feeling ;  but,  as  I  said,  I  never  could  give 
m}"  daughter  to  a  Catholic' 

"'I'm  as  good  a  Protestant  as  yourself,  ma'am,' says  I ; 
'  my  mother  was  an  heiress,  and  we  were  all  brought  up  her 
way.' 

"  'That  makes  the  matter  very  different,'  says  she,  turning 
up  the  whites  of  her  e3'es.  '  How  could  I  ever  have  reconciled 
it  to  m}'  conscience  to  see  my  blessed  child  married  to  a  Papist? 
How  could  I  ever  have  taken  him  to  Molloyville  ?    Well,  this 


DENNIS  HAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


265 


obstacle  being  removed,  /  must  put  myself  no  longer  in  the 
way  between  two  young  people.  /  must  sacrifice  myself ;  as  I 
always  have  when  my  darling  girl  was  in  question.  You  shall 
see  her,  the  poor  dear,  lovely,  gentle  sufferer,  and  learn  your 
fate  from  her  own  lips.' 

'  The  sufferer,  ma'am,'  says  I ;  '  has  Miss  Gam  been  ill?  ' 
"  '  What !  haven't  you  heard?  '  cried  the  widow.  '  Haven't 
3'ou  heard  of  tlie  dreadful  illness  which  so  nearly  carried  her 
from  me?  For  nine  wrecks,  Mr.  Haggarty,  I  watched  her  day 
and  night,  without  taking  a  wink  of  sleep,  —  for  nine  weeks 
she  lay  trembling  between  death  and  life  ;  and  I  paid  the  doctor 
eighty-three  guineas.  She  is  restored  now:  but  she  is  the 
wreck  of  the  beautiful  creature  she  was.  Suffering,  and,  per- 
haps, another  disappointment  —  but  we  won't  mention  that  now 
—  have  so  pulled  her  down.  But  I  will  leave  you,  and  pre- 
pare my  sweet  girl  for  this  strange,  this  entirely  unexpected 
visit.' 

I  won't  tell  you  what  took  place  between  me  and  Jemima, 
to  whom  I  was  introduced  as  she  sat  in  the  darkened  room, 
poor  sufferer !  nor  describe  to  you  with  what  a  thrill  of  joy  I 
seized  (after  groping  about  for  it)  her  poor  emaciated  hand. 
She  did  not  withdraw  it ;  I  came  out  of  that  room  an  engaged 
man,  sir  ;  and  now  I  w^as  enabled  to  show^  her  that  I  had  always 
loved  her  sincerely,  for  there  w^as  my  will,  made  three  years 
back,  in  her  favor :  that  night  she  refused  me,  as  I  told  3'e. 
I  would  have  shot  myself,  but  they'd  have  brought  me  in  non 
compos ;  and  my  brother  Mick  would  have  contested  the  will, 
and  so  I  determined  to  live,  in  order  that  she  might  benefit 
b}'  my  dying.  I  had  but  a  thousand  pounds  then  :  since  that 
my  father  has  left  me  two  more.  I  willed  ever}^  shilling  to  her, 
as  3^ou  may  fancy,  and  settled  it  upon  her  when  w^e  married, 
as  w^e  did  soon  after.  It  was  not  for  some  time  that  I  was 
allowed  to  see  the  poor  girl's  face,  or,  indeed,  was  aware  of 
the  horrid  loss  she  had  sustained.  Fancy  my  agon}',  my  dear 
fellow,  when  I  saw  that  beautiful  wreck  !  " 

There  was  something  not  a  little  affecting  to  think,  in  the 
conduct  of  this  brave  fellow,  that  he  never  once,  as  he  told  his 
story,  seemed  to  allude  to  the  possibility  of  his  declining 
to  marry  a  w^oman  who  was  not  the  same  as  the  woman  he 
loved  ;  but  that  he  was  quite  as  faithful  to  her  now%  as  he  had 
been  when  captivated  by  the  poor  tawdry  charms  of  the  silly 
Miss  of  Leamington.  It  was  hard  that  such  a  noble  heart  as 
this  should  be  flung  aw^ay  upon  yonder  foul  mass  of  greedy 
vanity.    Was  it  hard,  or  not,  that  he  should  remain  deceived 


266 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


in  his  obstinate  humility,  and  continue  to  admire  the  selfish, 
silly  being  whom  he  had  chosen  to  worship  ? 

"I  should  have  been  appointed  surgeon  of  the  regiment," 
continued  Dennis,  soon  after,  when  it  was  ordered  abroad 
to  Jamaica,  where  it  now  is.  But  my  wife  would  not  hear  of 
going,  and  said  she  would  break  her  heart  if  she  left  her 
mother.  So  I  retired  on  half-pa}^,  and  took  this  cottage  ;  and 
in  case  any  practice  should  fall  in  my  way  —  wh}',  there  is  m}^ 
name  on  the  brass  plate,  an^  I'm  read\^  for  anything  that 
comes.  But  the  only  case  that  ever  did  come  was  one  day 
when  I  was  driving  ni}'  wife  in  the  chaise,  and  another,  one 
night,  of  a  beggar  with  a  broken  head.  My  wife  makes 
me  a  present  of  a  baby  ever}"  3"ear,  and  we've  no  debts ;  and 
between  you  and  me  and  the  post,  as  long  as  my  mother-in-law 
is  out  of  the  house,  I'm  as  happ}"  as  I  need  be." 

What !  you  and  the  old  lad}^  don't  get  on  well?  "  said  I. 

"I  can't  sa}"  we  do;  it's  not  in  nature,  you  know,"  said 
Dennis,  with  a  faint  grin.  ''She  comes  into  the  house,  and 
turns  it  tops3"-turvy.  When  she's  here  I'm  obHged  to  sleep 
in  the  sculler3\  She's  never  paid  her  daughter's  income  since 
the  first  year,  though  she  brags  about  her  sacrifices  as  if  she 
had  ruined  herself  for  Jemima;  and  besides,  when  she's  here, 
there's  a  whole  clan  of  the  Mollo3"s,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons, 
that  are  quartered  upon  us,  and  eat  me  out  of  house  and 
home." 

"And  is  Mollo3"ville  such  a  fine  place  as  the  widow  de- 
scribed it?"  asked  I,  laughing,  and  not  a  little  curious. 

"Oh,  a  might3"  fine  place  entirel3^ ! "  said  Dennis. 
"There's  the  oak  park  of  two  hundred  acres,  the  finest  land 
3^e  ever  saw,  onl3"  the3"'ve  cut  all  the  wood  down.  The  garden 
in  the  old  Molloy's  time,  they  sa3',  was  the  finest  ever  seen 
in  the  West  of  Ireland  ;  but  they've  taken  all  the  glass  to  mend 
the  house  windows  :  and  small  blame  to  them  either.  There's 
a  clear  rent-roll  of  three  and  fift3'  hundred  a  year,  oxAy  it's 
in  the  hand  of  receivers  ;  besides  other  debts,  on  which  there 
is  no  land  securit3\" 

"  Your  cousin-in-law,  Castlereagh  M0II03",  won't  come  into 
a  large  fortune  ?  " 

"Oh,  he'll  do  very  well,"  said  Dennis.  "  As  long  as  he 
can  get  credit,  he's  not  the  fellow  to  stint  himself.  Faith, 
I  was  fool  enough  to  put  my  name  to  a  bit  of  paper  for  him, 
and  as  they  could  not  catch  him  in  MaN  O,  the3"  laid  hold  of  me 
at  Kingstown  liere.  And  there  was  a  pretty  to  do.  Didn't 
Mrs.  Gam  say  I  was  ruining  her  family,  that's  all?    I  paid  it 


DENNIS  HAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


267 


by  instalments  (for  all  my  money  is  settled  on  Jemima)  ;  and 
Castlereagli,  who's  an  honorable  fellow,  offered  me  any  satis- 
faction in  Ufe.    Anyhow  he  couldn't  do  more  than  that^ 
Of  course  not,  and  now  3^ou're  friends?  " 

''Yes,  and  he  and  his  aunt  have  had  a  tiff,  too;  and 
he  abuses  her  properl}^  I  warrant  3'e.  He  says  that  she  car- 
ried about  Jemima  from  place  to  place,  and  ilung  her  at  the 
head  of  every  unmarried  man  in  England  a'most,  —  my  poor 
Jemima,  and  she  all  the  while  dying  in  love  with  me !  As 
soon  as  she  got  over  the  small-pox  —  she  took  it  at  Fermoy  — 
God  bless  her,  I  wish  I'd  been  by  to  be  her  nurse-tender,  —  as 
soon  as  she  was  rid  of  it,  the  old  lady  said  to  Castlereagh, 
'  Castlereagh,  go  to  the  bar'cks,  and  find  out  in  the  Army  List 
where  the  120th  is.'  Off*  she  came  to  Cork  hot  foot.  It 
appears  that  while  she  was  ill,  Jemima's  love  for  me  showed 
itself  in  such  a  violent  way  that  her  mother  was  overcome,  and 
promised  that,  should  the  dear  child  recover,  she  would  try  and 
bring  us  together.  Castlereagh  says  she  would  have  gone  after 
us  to  Jamaica." 

-'  I  have  no  doubt  she  would,"  said  I. 
Could  you  have  a  stronger  proof  of  love  than  that?  "  cried 
Dennis.  ''  M}"  dear  girl's  illness  and  frightful  blindness  have, 
of  course,  injured  her  health  and  her  temper.  She  cannot  in 
her  position  look  to  the  children,  you  know,  and  so  thej^  come 
under  m}^  charge  for  the  most  part ;  and  her  temper  is  unequal, 
certainly.  But  yow  see  what  a  sensitive,  refined,  elegant 
creature  she  is,  and  may  fancy  that  she's  often  put  out  by 
a  rough  fellow  like  me." 

Here  Dennis  left  me,  saying  it  was  time  to  go  and  walk  out 
the  children  ;  and  I  think  his  story  has  matter  of  some  whole- 
some reflection  in  it  for  bachelors  who  are  about  to  change 
their  condition,  or  may  console  some  who  are  mourning  their 
celibacy.  Marry,  gentlemen,  if  you  like  ;  leave  3'our  comfort- 
able dinner  at  the  club  for  cold  mutton  and  curl-papers  at  your 
home  ;  give  up  3'our  books  or  pleasures,  and  take  to  yourselves 
wives  and  children  ;  but  think  w^ell  on  what  you  do  first,  as 
I  have  no  doubt  you  will  after  this  advice  and  example.  Ad- 
vice is  always  useful  in  matters  of  love  ;  men  always  take  it ; 
they  alwa^^s  follow  other  people's  opinions,  not  their  own  :  they 
always  profit  by  example.  When  the}'  see  a  pretty  woman, 
and  feel  the  delicious  madness  of  love  coming  over  them,  they 
always  stop  to  calculate  her  temper,  her  mone}',  their  own 
money,  or  suitableness  for  the  married  life.  .  .  .  Ha,  ha, 
ha !    Let  us  fool  in  this  way  no  more.    I  have  been  in  love 


268 


MEN'S  WIVES. 


forty-three  times  with  all  ranks  and  conditions  of  women,  and 
would  have  married  every  time  if  they  would  have  let  me. 
How  many  wives  had  King  Solomon,  the  wisest  of  men?  And 
is  not  that  story  a  warning  to  us  that  Love  is  master  of  the 
wisest?    It  is  onl}'  fools  who  defy  him. 

I  must  come,  however,  to  the  last,  and  perhaps  the  saddest, 
part  of  poor  Denny  Haggartj^'s  histor}'.  I  met  him  once  more, 
and  in  such  a  condition  as  made  me  determine  to  write  this 
histor3\ 

In  the  month  of  June  last  I  happened  to  be  at  Richmond, 
a  dehghtful  little  place  of  retreat ;  and  there,  sunning  himself 
upon  the  terrace,  was  my  old  friend  of  the  120th:  he  looked 
older,  thinner,  poorer,  and  more  wretched  than  I  had  ever  seen 
him.  ' '  What !  3^ou  have  given  up  Kingstown  ?  "  said  I,  shak- 
ing him  by  the  hand. 

"  Yes,"  sa^^s  he. 

"  And  is  m}"  lady  and  your  family  here  at  Richmond?  " 
No,"  says  he,  with  a  sad  shake  of  the  head  ;  and  the  poor 
fellow's  hollow  e3^es  filled  with  tears. 

''Good  heavens,  Denny!  what's  the  matter?"  said  I.  He 
was  squeezing  my  hand  like  a  vice  as  I  spoke. 

' '  They've  left  me !  "  he  burst  out  with  a  dreadful  shout 
of  passionate  grief  —  a  horrible  scream  which  seemed  to  be 
wrenched  out  of  his  heart.  ''  Left  me  !  "  said  he,  sinking  down 
on  a  seat,  and  clenching  his  great  fists,  and  shaking  his  lean 
arms  wildl3^  ''  I'm  a  wise  man  now,  Mr.  Fitz-Boodle.  Jemi- 
ma has  gone  away  from  me,  and  yet  you  know  how  I  loved  her, 
and  how  happy  we  were !  I've  got  nobody  now ;  but  I'll  die 
soon,  that's  one  comfort :  and  to  think  it's  she  that'll  kill  me 
after  all !  " 

The  story,  which  he  told  with  a  wild  and  furious  lamentation 
such  as  is  not  known  among  men  of  our  cooler  countr}',  and 
such  as  I  don't  like  now  to  recall,  was  a  very  simple  one.  The 
mother-in-law  had  taken  possession  of  the  house,  and  had  driv- 
en him  from  it.  His  property  at  his  marriage  was  settled  on 
his  wife.  She  had  never  loved  him,  and  told  him  this  secret 
at  last,  and  drove  him  out  of  doors  with  her  selfish  scorn  and 
ill  temper.  The  boy  had  died ;  the  girls  were  better,  he  said, 
brought  up  among  the  Molloys  than  they  could  be  with  him ; 
and  so  he  was  quite  alone  in  the  world,  and  was  living,  or 
rather  d}  ing,  on  fort}'  pounds  a  year. 

His  troubles  are  very  likely  over  by  this  time.  The  two 
fools  who  caused  his  misery  will  never  read  this  history  of  him  ; 
they  never  read  godless  stories  in  magazines :  and  I  wish, 


DENNIS  HAGGARTY'S  WIFE. 


269 


honest  reader,  that  you  and  I  went  to  church  as  much  as  they 
do.  These  people  are  not  wicked  because  of  their  religious 
observances,  but  in  spite  of  them.  They  are  too  dull  to  under- 
stand humility,  too  blind  to  see  a  tender  and  simple  heart  under 
a  rougb  ungainl}^  bosom.  They  are  sure  that  all  their  conduct 
towards  my  poor  friend  here  has  been  perfectly  righteous,  and 
that  they  have  given  proofs  of  the  most  Christian  virtue', 
liaggarty's  wife  is  considered  by  her  friends  as  a  martyr  to 
a  savage  husband,  and  her  mother  is  the  angel  that  has  come 
to  rescue  her.  All  they  did  was  to  cheat  him  and  desert  him. 
And  safe  in  that  wonderful  self-complacency  with  which  the 
fools  of  this  earth  are  endowed,  thej^  have  not  a  single  pang  of 
conscience  for  their  villany  towards  him,  and  consider  their 
heartlessness  as  a  proof  and  consequence  of  their  spotless  piety 
and  virtue. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  genus  "Snob"  formed  the  subject  of  the  earliest  of 
Mr.  Thackeray's  studies  of  character.  When  he  was  an 
undergraduate  of  Cambridge,  in  1829,  there  appeared  an 
unpretending  Uttle  weekly  periodical  entitled  ''The  Snob:  a 
Literary  and  Scientific  Journal,"  not  "  conducted  by  members 
of  the  University,"  to  which  Mr.  Thackeray  was  a  contribu- 
tor ;  and  it  probably  owed  its  name  and  existence  to  him. 
Each  number  contained  onlj^  six  pages,  of  a  small  octavo 
size,  printed  on  tinted  paper  of  different  colors,  green,  pink, 
and  yellow ;  and,  as  if  to  complete  the  eccentricity  of  the 
periodical,  its  price  was  twopence-halfpenny.  "  The  Snob " 
had  but  a  short  life,  only  eleven  numbers  having  been  pub- 
lished ;  the  first  being  dated  April  9th,  1829,  and  the  last, 
June  18,  of  the  same  year. 

In  those  contributions  which  appear  to  have  been  written 
b}'  Mr.  Thackeray,  indications  are  discernible  of  the  fine 
satiric  humor  with  which  he  ridiculed  vulgarity  and  preten- 
sion in  "The  Book  of  Snobs."  But  as  the  Pubhshers  believe 
that  the  Author  would  not  himself  have  wished  such  fugitive 
papers,  hastily  thrown  off  in  sport  for  his  own  amusement, 
at  an  early  period  of  his  life,  to  be  republished,  none  of 
them  have  been  included  in  this  volume. 


18 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

BY  ONE  OF  THEMSELVES. 


PREFATORY  REMARKS. 

[The  necessity  of  a  work  on  Snobs,  demonstrated  from  History,  and  proved  hy 
felicitous  illustrations:  —  lam  the  individual  destined  to  write  that  work  —  My 
vocation  is  announced  in  terms  of  great  eloquence  —  /  show  that  the  world  has 
been  gradually  preparing  itself  for  the  work  and  the  man  —  Snobs  are  to  be 
studied  like  other  objects  of  I^atural  Science,  and  are  a  part  of  the  Beauti- 
ful [with  a  large  B).  They  pervade  all  classes  —  Affecting  instance  of  Colonel 
Snobley.] 

We  have  all  read  a  statement,  (the  authenticity  of  which  I 
take  leave  to  doubt  entirelj^  for  upon  what  calculations  I  should 
like  to  know  is  it  founded?)  — we  have  all,  I  sa}^  been  favored 
by  perusing  a  remark,  that  when  the  times  and  necessities  of  the 
world  call  for  a  Man,  that  individual  is  found.  Thus  at  the 
French  Revolution  (which  the  reader  will  be  pleased  to  have  in- 
troduced so  earl}'),  when  it  was  requisite  to  administer  a  correc- 
tive dose  to  the  nation,  Robespierre  was  found  ;  a  most  foul  and 
nauseous  dose  indeed,  and  swallowed  eagerly  by  the  patient, 
greatl}^  to  the  latter's  ultimate  advantage  :  thus  when  it  became 
necessar}'  to  kick  John  Bull  out  of  America,  Mr.  Washington 
stepped  forward  and  performed  that  job  to  satisfaction  :  thus, 
when  the  Earl  of  Aldborough  was  unwell.  Professor  Hollo  way 
appeared  with  his  pills,  and  cured  his  lordship,  as  per  advertise- 
ment, &c.  &c.  Numberless  instances  might  be  adduced  to  show 
that  when  a  nation  is  in  great  want,  the  relief  is  at  hand  ;  just  as 
in  the  Pantomime  (that  microcosm)  where  when  Clown  wants 
anything  —  a  warming-pan,  a  pump-handle,  a  goose,  or  a  lady's 
tippet  —  a  fellow  comes  sauntering  out  from  behind  the  side- 
scenes  with  the  ver}'  article  in  question. 

Again,  when  men  commence  an  undertaking,  they  always  are 
prepared  to  show  that  the  absolute  necessities  of  the  world  de- 
manded its  completion.  —  Say  it  is  a  railroad  :  the  dii'ectors  be- 


276 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


gin  b}^  stating  that  A  more  intimate  communication  between 
Bathershins  and  Derr3'nane  Beg  is  necessary  for  the  advance- 
ment of  civilization,  and  demanded  b}^  the  multitudinous  accla- 
mations of  the  great  Irish  people.''  Or  suppose  it  is  a  news- 
paper :  the  prospectus  states  that  "  At  a  time  when  the  Church 
is  in  danger,  threatened  from  without  by  savage  fanaticism  and 
miscreant  unbelief,  and  undermined  from  within  b}"  dangerous 
Jesuitism  and  suicidal  Schism,  a  Want  has  been  universally 
felt  —  a  suffering  people  has  looked  abroad  —  for  an  Ecclesias- 
tical Champion  and  Guardian.  A  bod}^  of  Prelates  and  Gen- 
tlemen have  therefore  stepped  forward  in  this  our  hour  of 
danger,  and  determined  on  establishing  the  Beadle  news- 
paper," &c.  &c.  One  or  other  of  these  points  at  least  is  incon- 
trovertible :  the  public  wants  a  thing,  therefore  it  is  supplied  with 
it ;  or  the  pubhc  is  supplied  with  a  thing,  therefore  it  wants  it. 

I  have  long  gone  about  with  a  conviction  on  my  mind 
that  I  had  a  work  to  do  —  a  Work,  if  3"ou  like,  with  a  great 
W;  a  Purpose  to  fulfil;  a  chasm  to  leap  into,  like  Curtius, 
horse  &  foot ;  a  Great  Social  Evil  to  Discover  and  to  Rem- 
edy.  That  Conviction  Has  Pursued  me  for  Years.  It  has 
Dogged  me  in  the  Busy  Street ;  Seated  Itself  B}^  Me  in  The 
Lonely  Stud}^ ;  Jogged  My  Elbow  as  it  Lifted  the  Wine-cup 
at  The  Festive  Board  ;  Pursued  me  through  the  Maze  of  Rot- 
ten Row  ;  Followed  me  in  Far  Lands.  On  Brighton's  Shingly 
Beach,  or  Margate's  Sand,  the  Voice  Outpiped  the  Roaring 
of  the  Sea  ;  it  Nestles  in  ni}^  Nightcap,  and  It  Whispers, 
Wake,  Slumberer,  thy  Work  Is  Not  Yet  Done."  Last  Year, 
B}'  Moonlight,  in  the  Colosseum,  the  Little  Sedulous  Voice 
Came  to  Me  and  Said,  "Smith,  or  Jones"  (The  Writer's 
Name  is  Neither  Here  nor  There),  Smith  or  Jones,  my  fine 
fellow,  this  is  all  very  well,  but  you  ought  to  be  at  home 
writing  your  great  work  on  SNOBS." 

When  a  man  has  this  sort  of  vocation  it  is  all  nonsense 
attempting  to  elude  it.  He  must  speak  out  to  the  nations  ; 
he  must  iinbusm  himself,  as  Jeames  would  say,  or  choke  and 
die.  Mark  to  yourself,"  I  have  often  mentally  exclaimed  to 
3'our  humble  servant,  the  gradual  wa}^  in  which  you  have 
been  prepared  for,  and  are  now  led  by  an  irresistible  necessity 
to  enter  upon  your  great  labor.  First,  the  World  was  made  : 
then,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Snobs ;  they  existed  for  3  ears 
and  3'ears,  and  were  no  more  known  than  America.  But 
presently,  —  ingens  patebat  tellus^  —  the  people  became  darkly 
aware  that  there  was  such  a  race.  Not  above  five-and-twenty 
years  since,  a  name,  an  expressive  monosyllable,  arose  to 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


277 


designate  that  race.  That  name  has  spread  over  England 
like  railroads  subsequently  ;  Snobs  are  known  and  recognized 
throughout  an  Empire  on  which  I  am  given  to  understand 
the  Sun  never  sets.  Punch  appears  at  the  ripe  season,  to 
chronicle  their  history :  and  the  individual  comes  forth  to 
WTite  that  history  in  Punch,''  * 

I  have  (and  for  this  gift  I  congratulate  myself  with  a 
Deep  and  Abiding  Thankfulness)  an  e,ye  for  a  Snob.  If  the 
Truthful  is  the  Beautiful,  it  is  Beautiful  to  stud}^  even  the 
Snobbish ;  to  track  Snobs  through  history,  as  certain  little 
dogs  in  Hampshire  hunt  out  truffles ;  to  sink  shafts  in  society 
and  come  upon  rich  veins  of  Snob-ore.  Snobbishness  is  like 
Death  in  a  quotation  from  Horace,  which  I  hope  you  never 
have  heard,  beating  with  equal  foot  at  poor  men's  doors,  and 
kicking  at  the  gates  of  Emperors."  It  is  a  great  mistake  to 
judge  of  Snobs  lightly,  and  think  they  exist  among  the  lower 
classes  merely-.  An  immense  percentage  of  Snobs,  I  believe, 
is  to  be  found  in  ever^^  rank  of  this  mortal  life.  You  must  not 
judge  hastil}^  or  vulgarl}^  of  Snobs  :  to  do  so  shows  that  you 
are  yourself  a  Snob.    I  myself  have  been  taken  for  one. 

When  I  was  taking  the  waters  at  Bagnigge  Wells,  and  liv- 
ing at  the  Imperial  Hotel"  there,  there  used  to  sit  opposite 
me  at  breakfast,  for  a  short  time,  a  Snob  so  insufferable  that  I 
felt  I  should  never  get  any  benefit  of  the  waters  so  long  as  he 
remained.  His  name  was  Lieutenant-Colonel  Snoble}^,  of  a 
certain  dragoon  regiment.  He  wore  japanned  boots  and 
moustaches:  he  lisped,  drawled,  and  left  the  ''r's"  out  of  his 
w^ords :  he  was  always  flourishing  about,  and  smoothing  his 
lacquered  whiskers  with  a  huge  flaming  bandanna,  that  filled 
the  room  with  an  odor  of  musk  so  stifling  that  I  determined  to 
do  battle  with  that  Snob,  and  that  either  he  or  I  should  quit  the 
Inn.  I  first  began  harmless  conversations  with  him  ;  frighten- 
ing him  exceedingl}^,  for  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  when  so 
attacked,  and  had  never  the  slightest  notion  that  anybody 
would  take  such  a  liberty  with  him  as  to  speak  first :  then  I 
handed  him  the  paper :  then,  as  he  would  take  no  notice  of 
these  advances,  I  used  to  look  him  in  the  face  steadih^  and 
—  and  use  ni}-  fork  in  the  light  of  a  toothpick.  After  two 
mornings  of  this  practice,  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and 
fairl}^  quitted  the  place. 

Should  the  Colonel  see  this,  will  he  remember  the  Gent  w^ho 
asked  him  if  he  thought  Publicoaler  was  a  fine  writer,  and 
drove  him  from  the  Hotel  with  a  four-pronged  fork  ? 

*  These  papers  were  originally  published  in  that  popular  periodical. 


278 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  SNOB  PLAYFULLY  DEALT  WITH. 

Theke  are  relative  and  positive  Snobs.  I  mean  by  positive, 
such  persons  as  are  Snobs  everywhere,  in  all  companies,  from 
morning  till  night,  from  j^outh  to  the  grave,  being  by  Nature 
endowed  with  Snobbishness  —  and  others  who  are  Snobs  only 
in  certain  circumstances  and  relations  of  life. 

For  instance  :  I  once  knew  a  man  who  committed  before  me 
an  act  as  atrocious  as  that  which  I  have  indicated  in  the  last 
chapter  as  performed  b}^  me  for  the  purpose  of  disgusting 
Colonel  Snoble}^ ;  viz.  the  using  the  fork  in  the  guise  of  a  tooth- 
pick. I  once,  I  say,  knew  a  man  who,  dining  in  m}'  company 
at  the  "  Europa  Coffee-house,"  (opposite  the  Grand  Opera,  and, 
as  ever3^body  knows,  the  only  decent  place  for  dining  at  Naples,) 
ate  pease  with  the  assistance  of  his  knife.  He  was  a  person  with 
whose  society  I  was  greatl}^  pleased  at  first  —  indeed,  we  had 
met  in  the  crater  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  and  were  subsequently 
robbed  and  held  to  ransom  by  brigands  in  Calabria,  which  is 
nothing  to  the  purpose  —  a  man  of  great  powers,  excellent  heart, 
and  varied  information ;  but  I  had  never  before  seen  him  with 
a  dish  of  pease,  and  his  conduct  in  regard  to  them  caused  me 
the  deepest  pain. 

After  having  seen  him  thus  publich^  comport  himself,  but 
one  course  was  open  to  me  —  to  cut  his  acquaintance.  I  com- 
missioned a  mutual  friend  (the  Honorable  Poly  Anthus)  to 
break  the  matter  to  this  gentleman  as  delicatel}'  as  possible, 
and  to  say  that  painful  circumstances — in  nowise  affecting  Mr. 
Marrowfat's  honor,  or  my  esteem  for  him  —  had  occurred,  which 
obliged  me  to  forego  my  intimacy  with  him  ;  and  accordingl}^ 
we  met,  and  gave  each  other  the  cut  direct  that  night  at  the 
Duchess  of  Monte  Fiasco's  ball. 

Everybody  at  Naples  remarked  the  separation  of  the  Damon 
and  Pythias  —  indeed.  Marrowfat  had  saved  my  life  more  than 
once  —  but,  as  an  English  gentleman,  what  was  I  to  do? 

My  dear  friend  was,  in  this  instance,  the  Snob  relative.  It 
is  not  snobbish  of  persons  of  rank  of  any  other  nation  to  emplo}^ 
their  knife  in  the  manner  alluded  to.  1  have  seen  Monte  Fiasco 
clean  his  trencher  with  his  knife,  and  every  Principe  in  com- 
pany doing  likewise.    I  have  seen,  at  the  hospitable  board  of 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


279 


H.  I.  H.  the  Grand  Duchess  Stephanie  of  Baden  —  (who,  if  these 
humble  lines  should  come  under  her  Imperial  eyes,  is  besought 
to  remember  graciousl}^  the  most  devoted  of  her  servants)  —  I 
have  seen,  I  say,  the  Hereditary  Princess  of  Potztausend-Don- 
nerwetter  (that  serenely-beautiful  woman)  use  her  knife  in  lieu 
of  a  fork  or  spoon  ;  I  have  seen  her  almost  swallow  it,  by  Jove  ! 
like  Ramo  Samee,  the  Indian  juggler.  And  did  I  blench?  Did 
my  estimation  for  the  Princess  diminish  ?  No,  lovely  Amalia  ! 
One  of  the  truest  passions  that  ever  was  inspired  b}^  woman 
was  raised  in  this  bosom  by  that  l^idy.  Beautiful  one  !  long, 
long  may  the  knife  carry  food  to  those  lips  !  the  reddest  and 
loveliest  in  the  world  ! 

The  cause  of  my  quarrel  with  Marrowfat  I  never  breathed 
to  mortal  soul  for  four  years.  We  met  in  the  halls  of  the  aris- 
tocracy—  our  friends  and  relatives.  We  jostled  each  other  in 
the  dance  or  at  the  board  ;  but  the  estrangement  continued,  and 
seemed  irrevocable,  until  the  fourth  of  June,  last  year. 

We  met  at  Sir  George  Golloper's.  We  were  placed,  he  on 
the  right,  your  humble  servant  on  the  left  of  the  admirable 
Lady  G.  Pease  formed  part  of  the  banquet  —  ducks  and  green 
pease.  I  trembled  as  I  saw  Marrowfat  helped,  and  turned  away 
sickening,  lest  I  should  behold  the  weapon  darting  down  his 
horrid  jaws. 

What  was  my  astonishment,  what  m}'  delight,  when  I  saw 
him  use  his  fork  like  any  other  Christian  !  He  did  not  administer 
the  cold  steel  once.  Old  times  rushed  back  upon  me  —  the 
remembrance  of  old  services  —  his  rescuing  me  from  the  brig- 
ands —  his  gallant  conduct  in  the  affair  wath  the  Countess  Dei 
Spinach!  —  his  lending  me  the  1 , 700/.  I  almost  burst  into  tears 
with  joy  —  my  voice  trembled  with  emotion.  "George,  my 
boy  ! "  I  exclaimed,  "George  Marrowfat,  my  dear  fellow!  a 
glass  of  wine  !  " 

Blushing  —  deeply  moved  —  almost  as  tremulous  as  I  was 
myself,  George  answered,  "  Fraiik^  shall  it  be  Hock  or  Madeira  ?  " 
I  could  have  hugged  him  to  my  heart  but  for  the  presence  of 
the  company.  Little  did  Lady  GoUoper  know  w^iat  was  the 
cause  of  the  emotion  which  sent  the  duckling  I  was  carving 
into  her  ladyship's  pink  satin  lap.  The  most  good-natured 
of  women  pardoned  the  error,  and  the  butler  removed  the 
bird. 

We  have  been  the  closest  friends  ever  since,  nor,  of  course,  has 
George  repeated  his  odious  habit.  He  acquired  it  at  a  country 
school,  where  they  cultivated  pease  and  only  used  two-pronged 
forks,  and  it  was  only  by  living  on  the  Continent,  where  the 


280 


THE  BOOK  OF  S^^OBS. 


usage  of  the  four-prong  is  general,  that  he  lost  the  horrible 
custom. 

In  this  point  —  and  in  this  onl}^  —  I  confess  myself  a  member 
of  the  Silver-Fork  School ;  and  if  this  tale  but  induce  one  of 
my  readers  to  pause,  to  examine  in  his  own  mind  solemnly,  and 
ask,  "  Do  I  or  do  I  not  eat  pease  with  a  knife?''  —  to  see  the 
ruin  which  may  fall  upon  himself  by  continuing  the  practice,  or 
his  family  by  beholding  the  example,  these  lines  will  not  have 
been  written  in  vain.  And  now,  whatever  other  authors  ma}^ 
be,  I  flatter  myself,  it  will  be  allowed  that  /,  at  least,  am  a 
moral  man. 

By  the  way,  as  some  readers  are  dull  of  comprehension,  I 
maj'  as  well  say  what  the  moral  of  this  histor^^  is.  The  moral 
is  this  —  Society  having  ordained  certain  customs,  men  are 
bound  to  obe}^  the  law  of  society,  and  conform  to  its  harmless 
orders. 

If  I  should  go  to  the  British  and  Foreign  Institute  (and 
ieaven  forbid  I  should  go  under  any  pretext  or  in  any  costume 
whatever)  — if  I  should  go  to  one  of  the  tea-parties  in  a  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers,  and  not  in  the  usual  attire  of  a  gentle- 
man, viz.  pumps,  a  gold  waistcoat,  a  crush  hat,  a  sham  frill, 
and  a  white  choker  —  I  should  be  insulting  society,  and  eatiacj 
pease  with  my  knife.  Let  the  porters  of  the  Institute  hustle  out 
the  individual  who  shall  so  offend.  Such  an  offender  is,  as 
regards  societ}',  a  most  emphatical  and  refractory  Snob.  It 
has  its  code  and  police  as  well  as  governments,  and  he  must 
conform  w^ho  would  profit  by  the  decrees  set  forth  for  their 
common  comfort. 

I  am  naturall}'  averse  to  egotism,  and  hate  self-laudation  con- 
suraedly ;  but  I  can't  help  relating  here  a  circumstance  illustra- 
tive of  the  point  in  question,  in  which  I  must  think  I  acted  with 
considerable  prudence. 

Being  at  Constantinople  a  few  3'ears  since —  (on  a  delicate 
mission),  —  the  Russians  were  playing  a  double  game,  between 
ourselves,  and  it  became  necessary  on  our  part  to  employ  an 
extra  negotiator  —  Leckerbiss  Pasha  of  Roumelia,  then  Chief 
Galeongee  of  the  Porte,  gave  a  diplomatic  banquet  at  his  sum- 
mer palace  at  Bujukdere.  I  was  on  the  left  of  the  Galeongee, 
and  the  Russian  agent.  Count  de  Diddlofi*,  on  his  dexter  side. 
Diddloff  is  a  dandy  who  would  die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  : 
he  had  tried  to  have  me  assassinated  three  times  in  the  course 
of  the  negotiation ;  but  of  course  we  were  friends  in  public, 
and  saluted  each  other  in  the  most  cordial  and  charming 
xxxanner. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


281 


The  Galeongee  is  —  or  was,  alas  !  for  a  bowstring  has  done 
for  him  —  a  staunch  supporter  of  the  old  school  of  Turkish 
pohtics.  We  dined  with  our  fingers,  and  had  flaps  of  bread 
for  plates  ;  the  onW  innovation  he  admitted  was  the  use  of 
European  liquors,  in  which  he  indulged  with  great  gusto.  He 
was  an  enormous  eater.  Amongst  the  dislies  a  very  large  one 
was  placed  before  him  of  a  lamb  dressed  in  its  wool,  stuffed 
with  prunes,  garlic,  asafoetida,  capsicums,  and  other  condiments, 
the  most  abominable  mixture  that  ever  mortal  smelt  or  tasted. 
The  Galeongee  ate  of  this  hugely  ;  and  pursuing  the  Eastern 
fashion,  insisted  on  helping  his  friends  right  and  left,  and  when 
he  came  to  a  particularly  spicy  morsel,  would  push  it  with  his 
own  hands  into  his  guests'  very  mouths. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  look  of  poor  Diddloff,  w4ien  his 
Excellency,  rolling  up  a  large  quantity  of  this  into  a  ball  and 
exclaiming,  ''Buk  Buk  "  (it  is  very  good),  administered  the 
horrible  bolus  to  Diddloff  .  The  Russian's  eyes  rolled  dreadfully 
as  he  received  it :  he  swallowed  it  with  a  grimace  that  I  thought 
must  precede  a  convulsion,  and  seizing  a  bottle  next  him,  which 
he  thought  was  Sauterne,  but  which  turned  out  to  be  French 
brandy,  he  drank  off  nearly  a  pint  before  he  knew  his  error. 
It  finished  him  ;  he  was  carried  away  from  the  dining-room 
almost  dead,  and  laid  out  to  cool  in  a  summer-house  on  the 
Bosphorus. 

When  it  came  to  my  turn,  I  took  down  the  condiment  with 
a  smile,  said  Bismillah,"  licked  my  lips  with  easy  gratifica- 
tion, and  when  the  next  dish  was  served,  made  up  a  ball  myself 
so  dexterousl}',  and  popped  it  down  the  old  Galeongee's  mouth 
with  so  much  grace,  that  his  heart  was  won.  Russia  was  put 
out  of  court  at  once,  and  the  treaty  of  Kabobanople  was  signed. 
As  for  Diddloff,  all  was  over  with  him :  he  was  recalled  to  St. 
Petersburg,  and  Sir  Roderick  Murchison  saw  him,  under  the 
No.  3967,  working  in  the  Ural  mines. 

The  moral  of  this  tale,  I  need  not  say,  is,  that  there  are 
many  disagreeable  things  in  society  which  you  are  bound  to 
take  down,  and  to  do  so  with  a  smiling  face. 


282 


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CHAPTER  n. 

THE    SNOB  ROYAL. 

Long  since,  at  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  her  pres- 
ent Gracious  Majest3^  it  chanced  "  on  a  fair  summer  evening/* 
as  Mr.  James  would  sa}^,  that  tliree  or  four  young  cavaliers 
were  drinking  a  cup  of  wine  after  dinner  at  the  hostelry  called 
the  ''King's  Arms,"  kept  by  Mistress  Anderson,  in  the  royal 
village  of  Kensington.  'Twas  a  balmy  evening,  and  the  way- 
farers looked  out  on  a  cheerful  scene.  The  tall  elms  of  the 
ancient  gardens  were  in  full  leaf,  and  countless  chariots  of 
the  nobilit}^  of  England  whirled  b}^  to  the  neighboring  palace, 
where  princely  Sussex  (whose  income  latterly  only  allowed  him 
to  give  tea-parties)  entertained  his  ro3^al  niece  at  a  state  ban- 
quet. When  the  caroches  of  the  nobles  had  set  down  their 
owners  at  the  banquet-hall,  their  varlets  and  servitors  came  to 
quaff  a  flagon  of  nut-brown  ale  in  the  ''  King's  Arms"  gardens 
hard  by.  We  watched  these  fellows  from  our  lattice.  By 
Saint  Bonifiice  'twas  a  rare  sight ! 

The  tulips  in  Mynheer  Van  Dunck's  gardens  were  not  more 
gorgeous  than  the  liveries  of  these  pie-coated  retainers.  All 
the  flowers  of  the  field  bloomed  in  their  ruffled  bosoms,  all  the 
hues  of  the  rainbow  gleamed  in  their  plush  breeches,  and  the 
long-caned  ones  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  with  that 
charming  solemnity,  that  delightful  quivering  swagger  of  the 
calves,  which  has  always  had  a  frantic  fascination  for  us.  The 
walk  was  not  wide  enough  for  them  as  the  shoulder-knots 
strutted  up  and  down  it  in  canary,  and  crimson,  and  light 
blue. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  their  pride,  a  little  bell  was  rung, 
a  side  door  opened,  and  (after  setting  down  their  Royal  Mis- 
tress) her  Majesty's  own  crimson  footmen,  with  epaulets  and 
bhick  plushes,  came  in. 

It  was  pitiable  to  see  the  other  poor  Johns  slink  off  at  this 
arrival !  Not  one  of  the  honest  private  Plushes  could  stand  up 
before  the  Royal  Plunkies.  Thc^y  left  the  walk  :  they  sneaked 
into  dark  hohis  and  drank  their  beer  in  silence.  Tlie  Royal 
Plush  kept  possession  of  the  garden  until  the  Royal  Plush 
dinner  w^as  announced,  when  it  retired,  and  we  heard  from 
the  pavilion  where   they    dined,    conservative   cheers,  and 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


283 


speeches,  and  Kentish  fires.  The  other  Flunkies  we  never 
saw  more. 

My  dear  Flunkies,  so  absurdly  conceited  at  one  moment 
and  so  abject  at  the  next,  are  but  the  types  of  their  masters  in 
this  world.  He  who  meanly  admires  mean  things  is  a  Snob  — 
perhaps  that  is  a  safe  definition  of  the  character. 

And  this  is  why  I  have,  with  the  utmost  respect,  ventured 
to  place  The  Snob  Royal  at  the  head  of  my  list,  causing  all 
others  to  give  way  before  him,  as  the  Flunkies  before  the  ro^^al 
representative  in  Kensington  Gardens.  To  say  of  such  and 
such  a  Gracious  Sovereign  that  he  is  a  Snob,  is  but  to  say  that 
his  Majesty  is  a  man.  Kings,  too,  are  men  and  Snobs.  In  a 
country  where  Snobs  are  in  the  majority,  a  prime  one,  surel}^, 
cannot  be  unfit  to  govern.  With  us  they  have  succeeded  to 
admiration. 

For  instance,  James  I.  was  a  Snob,  and  a  Scotch  Snob, 
than  which  the  world  contains  no  more  offensive  creature.  He 
appears  to  have  had  not  one  of  the  good  qualities  of  a  man  — 
neither  courage,  nor  generosity,  nor  honesty,  nor  brains  ;  but 
read  what  the  great  Divines  and  Doctors  of  England  said  about 
him  !  Charles  II.,  his  grandson,  was  a  rogue,  but  not  a  Snob  ; 
whilst  Louis  XIV.,  his  old  squaretoes  of  a  contemporary, — 
the  great  worshipper  of  Bigwiggery  —  has  always  struck  me  as 
a  most  undoubted  and  Royal  Snob. 

I  will  not,  however,  take  instances  from  our  own  country  of 
Royal  Snobs,  but  refer  to  a  neighboring  kingdom,  that  of  Brent- 
ford—  and  its  monarch,  the  late  great  and  lamented  Gorgius 
IV.  With  the  same  humility  with  which  the  footmen  at  the 
King's  Arms"  gave  way  before  the  Plush  Ro3^al,  the  aristoc- 
racy of  the  Brentford  nation  bent  down  and  truckled  before 
Gorgius,  and  proclaimed  him  the  first  gentleman  in  Europe. 
And  it's  a  wonder  to  think  what  is  the  gentlefolks'  opinion  of 
a  gentleman,  when  they  gave  Gorgius  such  a  title. 

What  is  it  to  be  a  gentleman?  Is  it  to  be  honest,  to  be 
gentle,  to  be  generous,  to  be  brave,  to  be  wise,  and,  possessing 
all  these  qualities,  to  exercise  them  in  the  most  graceful  out- 
ward manner?  Ought  a  gentleman  to  be  a  loyal  son,  a  true 
husband,  and  honest  father?  Ought  his  life  to  be  decent  —  his 
bills  to  be  paid  —  his  tastes  to  be  high  and  elegant  —  his  aims 
in  life  lofty  and  noble?  In  a  word,  ought  not  the  Biography 
of  a  First  Gentleman  in  Europe  to  be  of  such  a  nature  that  it 
might  be  read  in  Young  Ladies'  Schools  with  advantage,  and 
studied  with  profit  in  the  Seminaries  of  Young  Gentlemen?  I 
put  this  question  to  all  instructors  of  youth  —  to  Mrs.  EUis  and 


284 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


the  Women  of  England;  to  all  schoolmasters,  from  Doctor 
Hawtrey  down  to  Mr.  Squeers.  I  conjure  up  before  me  an 
awful  tribunal  of  youth  and  innocence,  attended  by  its  venerable 
instructors  (like  the  ten  thousand  red-cheeked  charity-children 
in  Saint  Paul's) ,  sitting  in  judgment,  and  Gorgius  pleading  his 
cause  in  the  midst.  Out  of  Court,  out  of  Court,  fat  old  Florizel ! 
Beadles,  turn  out  that  bloated,  pimple-faced  man  !  —  If  Gorgius 
must  have  a  statue  in  the  new  Palace  which  the  Brentford  nation 
is  building,  it  ought  to  be  set  up  in  the  Flunkies'  Hall.  He 
should  be  represented  cutting  out  a  coat,  in  which  art  he  is 
said  to  have  excelled.  He  also  invented  Maraschino  punch, 
a  shoe-buckle  (this  was  in  the  vigor  of  his  3'outh,  and  the  prime 
force  of  his  invention),  and  a  Chinese  pavilion,  the  most  hide- 
ous building  in  the  world.  He  could  drive  a  four-in-hand  very 
nearly  as  well  as  the  Brighton  coachman,  could  fence  elegantly, 
and  it  is  said,  pla3^ed  the  fiddle  well.  And  he  smiled  with  such 
irresistible  fascination,  that  persons  who  were  introduced  into 
his  august  presence  became  his  victims,  body  and  soul,  as  a 
rabbit  becomes  the  prey  of  a  great  big  boa-constrictor. 

I  would  wager  that  if  Mr.  Widdicomb  were,  by  a  revolution, 
placed  on  the  throne  of  Brentford,  people  would  be  equally 
fascinated  by  his  irresistibly  majestic  smile,  and  tremble  as 
they  knelt  down  to  kiss  his  hand.  If  he  went  to  Dublin  they 
would  erect  an  obelisk  on  the  spot  where  he  first  landed,  as  the 
Paddylanders  did  when  Gorgius  visited  them.  We  have  all  of  us 
read  with  delight  that  story  of  the  King's  vo3^age  to  Haggisland, 
where  his  presence  inspired  such  a  fury  of  loyalty ;  and  where 
the  most  famous  man  of  the  country — the  Baron  of  Bradwar- 
dine  —  coming  on  board  the  royal  yacht,  and  finding  a  glass 
out  of  which  Gorgius  had  drunk,  put  it  into  his  coat-pocket  as 
an  inestimable  reUc,  and  went  ashore  in  his  boat  again.  But 
the  Baron  sat  down  upon  the  glass  and  broke  it,  and  cut  his 
coat-tails  very  much ;  and  the  inestimable  relic  was  lost  to  the 
world  for  ever.  O  noble  Bradwardine  !  what  old-world  super- 
stition could  set  you  on  your  knees  before  such  an  idol  as 
that? 

If  you  want  to  moralize  upon  the  mutability  of  human  affairs, 
go  and  see  the  figure  of  Gorgius  in  his  real,  identical  robes, 
at  the  wax-work.  —  Admittance  one  shilling.  Children  and 
flunkies  sixpence.    Go,  and  pay  sixpence. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


285 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ARISTOCRACY  ON  SNOBS. 

Last  Sunday  week,  being  at  church  in  this  city,  and  the 
service  just  ended,  I  heard  two  Snobs  conversing  about  the  Par- 
son. One  was  asking  the  other  who  the  clergyman  was  ?  He 
is  Mr.  So-and-so,"  the  second  Snob  answered,  ''domestic 
chaplain  to  the  Earl  of  What-d'ye-cairim."  ''Oh,  is  he?" 
said  the  first  Snob,  with  a  tone  of  indescribable  satisfaction.  — 
The  Parson's  orthodoxy  and  identit}-  were  at  once  settled  in  this 
Snob's  mind.  He  knew  no  more  about  the  Earl  than  about  the 
Chaplain,  but  he  took  the  latter's  character  upon  the  authority 
of  the  former ;  and  went  home  quite  contented  with  his  Rev- 
erence, like  a  little  truckling  Snob. 

This  incident  gave  me  more  matter  for  reflection  even  than 
the  sermon  :  and  wonderment  at  the  extent  and  prevalence  of 
Lordolatry  in  this  countr3\  What  could  it  matter  to  Snob 
whether  his  Reverence  were  Chaplain  to  his  Lordship  or  not? 
What  Peerage- worship  there  is  all  through  this  free  countr}^ ! 
How  we  are  all  implicated  in  it,  and  more  or  less  down  on  our 
knees.  — And  with  regard  to  the  great  subject  on  hand,  I  think 
that  the  influence  of  the  Peerage  upon  Snobbishness  has  been 
more  remarkable  than  that  of  any  other  institution.  The  in- 
crease, encouragement,  and  maintenance  of  snobs  are  among 
the  "priceless  services,"  as  Lord  John  Russell  says,  which  we 
owe  to  the  nobilit3\ 

It  can't  be  otherwise.  A  man  becomes  enormousl}^  rich,  or 
he  jobs  successfully  in  the  aid  of  a  Minister,  or  he  wins  a  great 
battle,  or  executes  a  treaty,  or  is  a  clever  lawyer  who  makes  a 
multitude  of  fees  and  ascends  the  bench ;  and  the  country 
rewards  him  for  ever  with  a  gold  coronet  (with  more  or  less 
balls  or  leaves)  and  a  title,  and  a  rank  as  legislator.  "  Your 
merits  are  so  great,"  says  the  nation,  "  that  your  children  shall 
be  allowed  to  reign  over  us,  in  a  manner.  It  does  not  in  the 
least  matter  that  3^our  eldest  son  be  a  fool:  we  think  your 
services  so  remarkable,  that  he  shall  have  the  reversion  of 
your  honors  when  death  vacates  your  noble  shoes.  If  you  are 
poor,  we  will  give  you  such  a  sum  of  money  as  shall  enable  you 
and  the  eldest-born  of  your  race  for  ever  to  live  in  fat  and 
splendor.    It  is  our  wish  that  there  should  be  a  race  set  apart 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


in  this  happy  country,  who  shall  hold  the  first  rank,  have  the 

first  prizes  and  chances  in  all  government  jobs  and  patronages. 
We  cannot  make  all  your  dear  children  Peers  —  that  would 
make  Peerage  common  and  crowd  the  House  of  Lords  uncom- 
fortably —  but  the  young  ones  shall  have  everj'thing  a  Govern- 
ment can  give  ;  they  shall  get  the  pick  of  all  the  places  :  they 
shall  be  Captains  and  Lieutenant-Colonels  at  nineteen,  when 
hoary-headed  old  lieutenants  are  spending  thirty  j^ears  at  drill : 
they  shall  command  ships  at  one-and-twenty,  and  veterans  who 
fought  before  they  were  born.  And  as  we  are  eminently  a  free 
people,  and  in  order  to  encourage  all  men  to  do  their  dut}', 
we  say  to  any  man  of  smy  rank  —  get  enormousl}^  rich,  make 
immense  fees  as  a  lawyer,  or  great  speeches,  or  distinguish 
yourself  and  win  battles  —  and  you,  even  you,  shall  come  into 
the  privileged  class,  and  j^our  children  shall  reign  naturally  over 
ours." 

How  can  we  help  Snobbishness,  with  such  a  prodigious 
national  institution  erected  for  its  worship  ?  How  can  we  help 
cringing  to  Lords.  Flesh  and  blood  can't  do  otherwise.  What 
man  can  withstand  this  prodigious  temptation?  Inspired  by 
what  is  called  a  noble  emulation,  some  people  grasp  at  honors 
and  win  them  ;  others,  too  weak  or  mean,  blindly  a^dmire 
and  grovel  before  those  who  have  gained  them  ;  others,  not 
being  able  to  acquire  them,  furiously  hate,  abuse,  and  envy. 
There  are  only  a  few  bland  and  not-in-the-least-conceited 
philosophers,  who  can  behold  the  state  of  society,  viz..  Toady- 
ism, organized: — base  Man-and-Mammon  worship,  instituted 
by  command  of  law :  —  Snobbishness,  in  a  word,  perpetuated, 
—  and  mark  the  phenomenon  calmly.  And  of  these  calm 
moralists,  is  there  one,  I  wonder,  whose  heart  would  not  throb 
with  pleasure  if  he  could  be  seen  walking  arm-in-arm  with  a 
couple  of  dukes  down  Pall  Mall?  No  :  it  is  impossible,  in  our 
condition  of  societ}^,  not  to  be  sometimes  a  Snob. 

On  one  side  it  encourages  the  commoner  to  be  snobbishly 
mean,  and  the  noble  to  be  snobbishly  arrogant.  When  a  noble 
marchioness  writes  in  her  travels  about  the  hard  necessity  under 
which  steamboat  travellers  labor  of  being  brought  into  contact 
"with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people:"  implying  that  a 
fellowship  with  God's  creatures  is  disagreeable  to  her  Lady^ship, 

who  is  their  superior  :  —  when,  I  say^  the  Marchioness  of  

writes  in  this  fashion,  we  must  consider  that  out  of  her  natural 
heart  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  any  woman  to  have  had 
such  a  sentiment ;  but  that  the  habit  of  truckling  and  cringing, 
which  all  who  surround  her  have  adopted  towards  this  beautiful 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


287 


and  magnificent  lady,  —  this  proprietor  of  so  many  black  and 
other  diamonds,  —  has  really  induced  her  to  believe  that  she  is 
the  superior  of  the  world  in  general ;  and  that  people  are  not 
to  associate  with  her  except  awfully  at  a  distance.  I  recollect 
being  once  at  the  city  of  Grand  Cairo,  through  which  a  European 
Royal  Prince  was  passing  India- wards.  One  night  at  the  inn 
there  was  a  great  disturbance  :  a  man  had  drowned  himself  in 
the  well  hard  by :  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  hotel  came  bustling 
into  the  Court,  and  amongst  others  your  humble  servant,  who 
asked  of  a  certain  young  man  the  reason  of  the  disturbance. 
How  was  I  to  know  that  this  young  gent  was  a  prince  ?  He 
had  not  his  crown  and  sceptre  on  :  he  was  dressed  in  a  white 
jacket  and  felt  hat :  but  he  looked  surprised  at  anybody  speak- 
ing to  him :  answered  an  nnintelligible  monosyllable,  and  — 
beckoned  Ids  aide-de-camp  to  come  and  speak  to  me.  It  is  our 
fault,  not  that  of  the  great,  that  they  should  fancy  themselves 
so  far  above  us.  If  you  will  fling  yourself  under  the  wheels, 
Juggernaut  will  go  over  you,  depend  upon  it ;  and  if  you  and 
I,  my  dear  friend,  had  Kotoo  performed  before  us  ever}^  day, 
—  found  people  whenever  we  appeared  grovelling  in  slavish 
adoration,  we  should  drop  into  the  airs  of  superiority  quite 
naturall}^  and  accept  the  greatness  with  which  the  world  in- 
sisted upon  endowing  us. 

Here  is  an  instance,  out  of  Lord  L  's  travels,  of  that 

calm,  good-natured,  undoubting  way  in  which  a  great  man 
accepts  the  homage  of  his  inferiors.  After  making  some  pro- 
found and  ingenious  remarks  about  the  town  of  Brussels,  his 
lordship  saj^s  :  —  "  Staj'ing  some  da3's  at  the  Hotel  de  Belle 
Vue  —  a  greatly  overrated  establishment,  and  not  nearl}^  so 
comfortable  as  the  Hotel  de  France  — I  made  acquaintance 
with  Dr.  L  ,  the  physician  of  the  Mission.  He  was  desir- 
ous of  doing  the  honor  of  the  place  to  me,  and  he  ordered  for 
us  a  diner  en  gourmand  at  the  chief  restaurateur's,  maintaining 
it  surpassed  the  Rocher  at  Paris.  Six  or  eight  partook  of  the 
entertainment,  and  we  all  agreed  it  was  infinitely  inferior  to 
the  Paris  display,  and  much  more  extravagant.  So  much  for 
the  copy." 

And  so  much  for  the  gentleman  who  gave  the  dinner.  Dr. 

L  ,  desirous  to  do  his  lordship     the  honor  of  the  place," 

feasts  him  with  the  best  victuals  money  can  procure  —  and  my 
lord  finds  the  entertainment  extravagant  and  inferior.  Extrav- 
agant !  it  was  not  extravagant  to  him  ;  —  Inferior  !    Mr.  L  

did  his  best  to  satisfy  those  noble  jaws,  and  my  lord  receives 
the  entertainment,  and  dismisses  the  giver  with  a  rebuke.  It 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 


is  like  a  three-tailed  Pasha  grumbling  about  an  unsatisfactory 
backsheesh. 

But  how  should  it  be  otherwise  in  a  country  where  Lord- 
olatry  is  part  of  our  creed,  and  where  our  children  are  brought 
up  to  respect  the  "Peerage"  as  the  Englishman's  second 
Bible? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  THE  COURT  CIRCULAR,"  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE  ON  SNOBS. 

Example  is  the  best  of  precepts  ;  so  let  us  begin  with  a  true 
and  authentic  story,  showing  how  3^oung  aristocratic  snobs  are 
reared,  and  how  earl}^  their  Snobbishness  ma}'  be  made  to 
bloom.  A  beautiful  and  fashionable  lady — (pardon,  gracious 
madam,  that  3'our  stor}'  should  be  made  public ;  but  it  is  so 
moral  that  it  ought  to  be  known  to  the  universal  world)  —  told 
me  that  in  her  earl}'  youth  she  had  a  little  acquaintance,  who  is 
now  indeed  a  beautiful  and  fashionable  lad}^  too.  In  mention- 
ing Miss  Snobky,  daughter  of  Sir  Snobby  Snobky,  whose  pre- 
sentation at  Court  caused  such  a  sensation,  need  I  say  more? 

When  Miss  Snobk}^  was  so  very  young  as  to  be  in  the 
nursery  regions,  and  to  walk  of  early  mornings  in  St.  James's 
Park,  protected  by  a  French  governess  and  followed  by  a  huge 
hirsute  flunky  in  the  canarj'-colored  livery  of  the  Snobkys, 
she  used  occasional!}'  in  these  promenades  to  meet  with  young 
Lord  Claude  Lollipop,  the  Marquis  of  Sillabub's  younger  son. 
In  the  very  height  of  the  season,  from  some  unexplained  cause, 
the  Snobkys  suddenly  determined  upon  leaving  town.  Miss 
Snobky  spoke  to  her  female  friend  and  confidante.  What 
will  poor  Claude  Lollipop  say  when  he  hears  of  my  absence  ?  " 
asked  the  tender-hearted  child. 

Oh,  perhaps  he  won't  hear  of  it,"  answers  the  confidante. 

Mjj  dear^  he  will  read  it  in  the  papers^''  replied  the  dear 
little  fashionable  rogue  of  seven  years  old.  She  knew  already 
her  importance,  and  how  all  the  world  of  England,  how  all  the 
would-be-genteel  people,  how  all  the  silver-fork  worshippers, 
how  all  the  tattle-mongers,  how  all  the  grocers'  ladies,  the 
tailors'  ladies,  the  attorneys'  and  merchants'  ladies,  and  the 
people  living  at  Clapham  and  Brunswick  Square,  —  who  have 
no  more  chance  of  consorting  with  a  Snobky  than  mj"  beloved 


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289 


reader  has  of  dining  with  the  Emperor  of  China  —  yet  watched 
the  movements  of  the  Snobkys  with  interest,  and  were  glad  to 
know  when  they  came  to  London  and  left  it. 

Here  is  the  account  of  Miss  Snobky's  dress,  and  that  of  her 
mother.  Lady  Snobky,  from  the  papers  :  — 

MISS  SNOBKY. 

"Habit  de  Cour,  composed  of  a  yellow  nankeen  illusion 
dress  over  a  slip  of  rich  pea-green  corduroy,  trimmed  en  tablier, 
with  bouquets  of  Brussels  sprouts  :  the  body  and  sleeves  hand- 
somely trimmed  with  calimanco,  and  festooned  with  a  pink 
train  and  white  radishes.    Head-dress,  carrots  and  lappets. 

"  LADY  SNOBKY. 

"  Costume  de  Cour,  composed  of  a  train  of  the  most  superb 
Pekin  bandannas,  elegantly  trimmed  with  spangles,  tinfoil, 
and  red-tape.  Bodice  and  under-dress  of  sk3^-blue  velveteen, 
trimmed  with  bouffants  and  noeuds  of  bell-pulls.  Stomacher, 
a  muffin.  Head-dress,  a  bird's-nest,  with  a  bird  of  paradise, 
over  a  rich  brass  knocker  en  ferroniere.  This  splendid  costume, 
by  Madame  Crinoline,  of  Regent  Street,  was  the  object  of  uni- 
versal admiration." 

This  is  what  you  read.  Oh,  Mrs.  Ellis !  Oh,  mothers, 
daughters,  aunts,  grandmothers  of  England,  this  is  the  sort  of 
writing  which  is  put  in  the  newspapers  for  you  !  How  can  you 
help  being  the  mothers,  daughters,  &c.  of  Snobs,  so  long  as 
this  balderdash  is  set  before  you? 

You  stuff  the  little  rosy  foot  of  a  Chinese  young  lady  of 
fashion  into  a  slipper  that  is  about  the  size  of  a  salt-cruet,  and 
keep  the  poor  little  toes  there  imprisoned  and  twisted  up  so 
long  that  the  dwarfishness  becomes  irremediable.  Later,  the 
foot  would  not  expand  to  the  natural  size  were  3^ou  to  give  her 
a  washing- tub  for  a  shoe,  and  for  all  her  life  she  has  little  feet, 
and  is  a  cripple.  Oh,  m}^  dear  Miss  Wiggins,  thank  3'our  stars 
that  those  beautiful  feet  of  yours  —  though  I  declare  when  you 
walk  they  are  so  small  as  to  be  almost  invisible  —  thank  your 
stars  that  societ}'  never  so  practised  upon  them  ;  but  look 
around  and  see  how  man}'  friends  of  ours  in  the  highest  circles 
have  had  their  brains  so  prematurely  and  hopelessl}'  pinched 
and  distorted. 

How  can  you  expect  that  those  poor  creatures  are  to  move 

19 


290 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


naturally  when  the  world  and  their  parents  have  mutilated  them 
so  cruelly?  As  long  as  a  Court  Circular  exists,  how  the  deuce 
are  people  whose  names  are  chronicled  in  it  ever  to  believe 
themselves  the  equals  of  the  cringing  race  which  daily  reads 
that  abominable  trash  ?  I  believe  that  ours  is  the  onl}^  country 
in  the  world  now  where  the  Court  Circular  remains  in  full 
flourish  —  where  3'ou  read,  ''This  day  his  Roj^al  Highness 
Prince  PattN^pan  was  taken  an  airing  in  his  go-cart."  "The 
Princess  Pimminy  was  taken  a  drive,  attended  by  her  ladies  of 
honor,  and  accompanied  by  her  doll,"  &c.  We  laugh  at  the 
solemnity  with  which  Saint  Simon  announces  that  Sa  Majeste 
se  medicamente  aujourd'hui.  Under  our  verj^  noses  the  same 
foll}^  is  dail}^  going  on.  That  wonderful  and  m3'sterious  man, 
the  author  of  the  Court  Circular^  drops  in  with  his  budget  at 
the  newspaper  offices  ever}'  night.  I  once  asked  the  editor  of 
a  paper  to  allow  me  to  lie  in  wait  and  see  him. 

I  am  told  that  in  a  kingdom  where  there  is  a  German  King- 
Consort  (  Portugal  it  must  be,  for  the  Queen  of  that  country 
married  a  German  Prince,  who  is  greatly  admired  and  respected 
by  the  natives) ,  whenever  the  Consort  takes  the  diversion  of 
shooting  among  the  rabbit-warrens  of  Cintra,  or  the  pheasant- 
preserves  of  Mafra,  he  has  a  keeper  to  load  his  guns,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  then  they  are  handed  to  the  nobleman, 
his  equerr}',  and  the  nobleman  hands  them  to  the  Prince,  who 
blazes  awa}^  —  gives  back  the  discharged  gun  to  the  nobleman, 
who  gives  it  to  the  keeper,  and  so  on.  But  the  Prince  won't 
take  the  gun  from  the  hands  of  the  loader. 

As  long  as  this  unnatural  and  monstrous  etiquette  continues, 
Snobs  there  must  be.  The  three  persons  engaged  in  this  trans- 
action are,  for  the  time  being,  Snobs. 

1.  The  keeper  —  the  least  Snob  of  all,  because  he  is  dis- 
charging his  daily  duty  ;  but  he  appears  here  as  a  Snob,  that  is 
to  say,  in  a  position  of  debasement,  before  another  human  being 
(the  Prince),  with  whom  he  is  only  allowed  to  communicate 
through  another  party.  A  free  Portuguese  gamekeeper,  who 
professes  himself  to  be  unworthy  to  communicate  directl}'  with 
any  person,  confesses  himself  to  be  a  Snob. 

2.  The  nobleman  in  waiting  is  a  snob.  If  it  degrades  the 
Prince  to  receive  the  gun  from  the  gamekeeper,  it  is  degrading 
to  the  nol)leman  in  waiting  to  execute  that  service.  He  acts  as 
a  Snob  towards  the  keeper,  whom  he  keeps  from  communication 
with  the  Prince  —  a  Snob  towards  the  Prince,  to  whom  he  pays 
a  degrading  homage. 


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291 


3.  The  King-Consort  of  Portugal  is  a  Snob  for  insulting 
fellow-men  in  this  way.  There's  no  harm  in  his  accepting  the 
services  of  the  keeper  directly ;  but  indirectly  he  insults  the 
service  performed,  and  the  two  servants  who  perform  it ;  and 
therefore,  I  say,  respectfully,  is  a  most  undoubted,  though 
ro3'al  Sn-b. 

And  then  you  read  in  the  Diario  do  Goherno  —  Yesterda}', 
his  Majest}^  the  king  took  the  diversion  of  shooting  in  the  woods 
of  Cinti'a,  attended  by  Colonel  the  Honorable  Whiskerando 
Sombrero.  His  Majesty  returned  to  the  Necessidades  to  lunch, 
at,"  &c.  &c. 

Oh!  that  Court  Circular!  once  more,  I  exclaim.  Down 
with  the  Court  Circular  —  that  engine  and  propagator  of  Snob- 
bishness !  I  promise  to  subscribe  for  a  year  to  any  daily  paper 
that  shall  come  out  without  a  Court  Circular  —  were  it  the 
Morning  Herald  itself.  When  I  read  that  trash,  I  rise  in  my 
wrath  ;  I  feel  n^yself  disloyal,  a  regicide,  a  member  of  the  Calf  s 
Head  Club.  The  only  Court  Circular  story  which  ever  pleased 
me,  was  that  of  the  King  of  Spain,  who  in  great  part  was 
roasted,  because  there  w^as  not  time  for  the  Prime  Minister 
to  command  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  desire  the  Grand  Gold 
Stick  to  order  the  first  page  in  waiting  to  bid  the  chief  of  the 
flunkies  to  request  the  Housemaid  of  Honor  to  bring  up  a  pail 
of  water  to  put  his  Majesty  out. 

I  am  like  the  Pasha  of  three  tails,  to  whom  the  Sultan  sends 
his  Court  Circular^  the  bowstring. 

It  chokes  me.    May  its  usage  be  abolished  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHAT  SNOBS  ADMIRE. 

Now  let  us  consider  how  difficult  it  is  even  for  great  men  to 
escape  from  being  Snobs.  It  is  very  well  for  the  reader,  whose 
fine  feelings  are  disgusted  by  the  assertion  that  Kings,  Princes, 
Lords,  are  Snobs,  to  say,  ''You  are  confessedly  a  Snob  your- 
self. In  professing  to  depict  Snobs,  it  is  only  your  own  ugly 
mug  which  you  are  copying  with  a  Narcissus-like  conceit  and 
fatuit3\"  But  I  shall  pardon  this  explosion  of  ill-temper  on  the 
part  of  my  constant  reader,  reflecting  upon  the  misfortune  of 


292 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


his  birth  and  country.  It  is  impossible  for  any  Briton,  perhaps, 
not  to  be  a  Snob  in  some  degree.  If  people  can  be  convinced 
of  this  fact,  an  immense  point  is  gained,  surely.  If  I  have 
pointed  out  the  disease,  let  us  hope  that  other  scientific  char- 
acters ma}'  discover  the  remed}'. 

If  you,  who  are  a  person  of  the  middle  ranks  of  life,  are  a 
Snob,  — you  whom  nobody  flatters  particularly  ;  3'ou  who  have 
no  toadies ;  3'ou  whom  no  cringing  flunkies  or  shopmen  bow 
out  of  doors  ;  you  whom  the  policeman  tells  to  move  on  ;  you 
who  are  jostled  in  the  crowd  of  this  world,  and  amongst  the 
Snobs  our  brethren :  consider  how  much  harder  it  is  for  a  man 
to  escape  who  has  not  3'our  advantages,  and  is  all  his  life  long 
subject  to  adulation  ;  the  butt  of  meanness  ;  consider  how  diffi- 
cult it  is  for  the  Snobs'  idol  not  to  be  a  Snob. 

As  I  was  discoursing  with  my  friend  Eugenio  in  this  im- 
pressive way.  Lord  Buckram  passed  us,  the  son  of  the  Marquis 
of  Bagwig,  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  family  mansion  in 
Red  Lion  Square.  His  noble  father  and  mother  occupied,  as 
everybody  knows,  distinguished  posts  in  the  Courts  of  late 
Sovereigns.  The  Marquis  was  Lord  of  the  Pantrj^  and  her 
Ladyship,  Lady  of  the  Powder  Closet  to  Queen  Charlotte. 
Buck  (as  I  call  him,  for  we  are  very  familiar)  gave  me  a  nod 
as  he  passed,  and  I  proceeded  to  show  Eugenio  how  it  was  im- 
possible that  this  nobleman  should  not  be  one  of  ourselves,  hav- 
ing been  practised  upon  by  Snobs  all  his  life. 

His  parents  resolved  to  give  him  a  public  education,  and 
sent  him  to  school  at  the  earhest  possible  period.  The  Rever- 
end Otto  Rose,  D.D.,  Principal  of  the  Preparatory  Academy  for 
young  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  Richmond  Lodge,  took  this 
little  Lord  in  hand,  and  fell  down  and  worshipped  him.  He 
always  introduced  him  to  fathers  and  mothers  who  came  to  visit 
their  children  at  the  school.  He  referred  with  pride  and  pleas- 
ure to  the  most  noble  the  Marquis  of  Bagwig,  as  one  of  the  kind 
friends  and  patrons  of  his  Seminary.  He  made  Lord  Buckram 
a  bait  for  such  a  multiplicity  of  pupils,  that  a  new  wing  was 
built  to  Richmond  Lodge,  and  thirty-five  new  little  white  dimity 
beds  were  added  to  the  establishment.  Mrs.  Rose  used  to  take 
out  the  little  Lord  in  the  one-horse  chaise  with  her  when  she 
paid  visits,  until  the  Rector's  lady  and  the  Surgeon's  wife  almost 
died  with  envy.  His  own  son  and  Lord  Buckram  having  been 
discovered  robbing  an  orchard  together,  the  Doctor  flogged  his 
own  flesh  and  blood  most  unmercifully  for  leading  the  young 
Lord  astra}'.  He  parted  from  him  with  tears.  There  was  always 
a  letter  directed  to  the  Most  Noble  the  Marquis  of  Bagwig,  on 


THE  BOOK  OF  SKOBS. 


293 


the  Doctor's  study  table,  when  any  visitors  were  received  by 
him. 

At  Eton,  a  great  deal  of  Snobbishness  was  thrashed  out  of 
Lord  Buckram,  and  he  was  birched  with  perfect  impartiality. 
Even  there,  however,  a  select  band  of  sucking  tuft-hunters  fol- 
lowed him.  Young  Croesus  lent  him  three-and-twenty  bran  new 
sovereigns  out  of  his  father's  bank.  Young  Snaily  did  his  ex- 
ercises for  him,  and  tried  to  know  him  at  home  ;  "  but  young 
Bull  licked  him  in  a  fight  of  fifty-five  minutes,  and  he  was  caned 
several  times  with  great  advantage  for  not  sufficiently  polishing 
his  master  Smith's  shoes.  Boys  are  not  all  toadies  in  the  morn- 
ing of  life. 

But  when  he  went  to  the  University,  crowds  of  toadies 
sprawled  over  him.  The  tutors  toadied  him.  The  fellows  in 
hall  paid  liim  great  clums}^  compliments.  The  Dean  never  re- 
marked his  absence  from  Chapel,  or  heard  any  noise  issuing 
from  his  rooms.  A  number  of  respectable  3^oung  fellows,  (it  is 
among  the  respectable,  the  Baker  Street  class,  that  Snobbish- 
ness nourishes,  more  than  among  any  set  of  people  in  England) 
—  a  number  of  these  clung  to  him  like  leeches.  There  was  no 
end  now  to  Croesus's  loans  of  money ;  and  Buckram  couldn't 
ride  out  with  the  hounds,  but  Snail}'  (a  timid  creature  b}^  nature) 
was  in  the  field,  and  would  take  any  leap  at  which  his  friend 
chose  to  ride.  Young  Rose  came  up  to  the  same  College,  hav- 
ing been  kept  back  for  that  express  purpose  by  his  father.  He 
spent  a  quarter's  allowance  in  giving  Buckram  a  single  dinner ; 
but  he  knew  there  was  always  pardon  for  him  for  extravagance 
in  such  a  cause  ;  and  a  ten-pound  note  always  came  to  him  from 
home  when  he  mentioned  Buckram's  name  in  a  letter.  What 
wild  visions  entered  the  brains  of  Mrs.  Podge  and  Miss  Podge, 
the  wife  and  daughter  of  the  Principal  of  Lord  Buckram's  Col- 
lege, I  don't  know,  but  that  reverend  old  gentleman  was  too 
profound  a  flunky  b}^  nature  ever  for  one  minute  to  think  that 
a  child  of  his  could  marry  a  nobleman.  He  therefore  hastened 
on  his  daughter's  union  with  Professor  Crab. 

When  Lord  Buckram,  after  taking  his  honorary  degree,  (for 
Alma  Mater  is  a  Snob,  too,  and  truckles  to  a  Lord  like  the 
rest,)  —  when  Lord  Buckram  went  abroad  to  finish  his  educa- 
tion, 3'ou  all  know  what  dangers  he  ran,  and  what  numbers  of 
caps  were  set  at  him.  Lad}'  Leach  and  her  daughters  followed 
him  from  Paris  to  Rome,  and  from  Rome  to  Baden-Baden  ; 
Miss  Leggitt  burst  into  tears  before  his  face  when  he  announced 
his  determination  to  quit  Naples,  and  fainted  on  the  neck  of  her 
mamma;  Captain  Macdragon,  of  Macdragonstown,  county  Tip- 


294 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


perary,  called  upon  him  to  "  explene  his  intintions  with  respect 
to  his  sisther,  Miss  Amalia  Macdragon,  of  Macdragonstown/* 
and  proposed  to  shoot  him  unless  he  married  that  spotless  and 
beautiful  young  creature,  who  was  afterwards  led  to  the  altar  by 
Mr.  Muff,  at  Cheltenham.  If  perseverance  and  forty  thousand 
pounds  down  could  have  tempted  him.  Miss  L3Tlia  Croesus 
would  certainly  have  been  Lady  Buckram.  Count  Towrowski 
was  glad  to  take  her  with  half  the  money,  as  all  the  genteel 
world  knows. 

And  now,  perhaps,  the  reader  is  anxious  to  know  what  sort 
of  a  man  this  is  who  wounded  so  many  ladies'  hearts,  and  who 
has  been  such  a  prodigious  favorite  with  men.  If  we  were  to 
describe  him  it  would  be  personal.  Besides,  it  really  does  not 
matter  in  the  least  what  sort  of  a  man  he  is,  or  what  his  personal 
qualities  are. 

Suppose  he  is  a  j^oung  nobleman  of  a  literary  turn,  and  that 
he  published  poems  ever  so  foolish  and  feeble,  the  Snobs  would 
purchase  thousands  of  his  volumes  :  the  publishers  (who  re- 
fused my  Passion-Flowers,  and  my  grand  Epic  at  any  price) 
would  give  him  his  own.  Suppose  he  is  a  nobleman  of  a  jovial 
turn,  and  has  a  fancy  for  wrenching  off  knockers,  frequenting 
gin-shops,  and  half  murdering  policemen  :  the  public  will  sym- 
pathize  good-naturedly  with  his  amusements,  and  sa}'  he  is  a 
heart}^  honest  fellow.  Suppose  he  is  fond  of  pla}^  and  the  turf, 
and  has  a  fanc}^  to  be  a  blackleg,  and  occasionall}^  condescends 
to  pluck  a  pigeon  at  cards  ;  the  public  will  pardon  him,  and 
many  honest  people  will  court  him,  as  they  would  court  a  house- 
breaker if  he  happened  to  be  a  Lord.  Suppose  he  is  an  idiot ; 
yet,  by  the  glorious  constitution,  he  is  good  enough  to  govern 
us.  Suppose  he  is  an  honest,  high-minded  gentleman ;  so  much 
the  better  for  himself.  But  he  may  be  an  ass,  and  yet  re- 
spected;  or  a  ruffian,  and  yet  be  exceedingly  popular;  or  a 
rogue,  and  yet  excuses  will  be  found  for  him.  Snobs  will  still 
worship  him.  Male  Snobs  will  do  him  honor,  and  females  look 
kindly  upon  him,  however  hideous  he  may  be. 


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295 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SNOBS. 

Having  received  a  great  deal  of  obloquy  for  dragging 
monarchs,  princes,  and  the  respected  nobility  into  the  Snob 
category,  I  trust  to  please  everj^bod}^  in  the  present  chapter, 
by  stating  my  firm  opinion  that  it  is  among  the  respectable 
classes  of  this  vast  and  happy  empire  tliat  the  greatest  profu- 
sion of  Snobs  is  to  be  found.  I  pace  down  my  beloved  Baker 
Street,  (I  am  engaged  on  a  life  of  Baker,  founder  of  this 
celebrated  street,)  I  walk  in  Harley  Street  (where  every  other 
house  has  a  hatchment) ,  Wimpole  Street,  that  is  as  cheerful  as 
the  Catacombs  —  a  ding}'  Mausoleum  of  the  genteel :  —  I  rove 
round  Regent's  Park,  where  the  plaster  is  patching  off  the  house 
walls ;  where  Methodist  preachers  are  holding  forth  to  three 
little  children  in  the  green  enclosures,  and  puffy  valetudinarians 
are  cantering  in  the  solitary  mud :  —  I  thread  the  doubtful 
zig-zags  of  May  Fair,  where  Mrs.  Kitty  Lorimer's  brougham 
may  be  seen  drawn  up  next  door  to  old  Lady  Lollipop's  beloz- 
enged  family  coach  ;  —  I  roam  through  Belgravia,  that  pale  and 
polite  district,  where  all  the  inhabitants  look  prim  and  correct, 
and  the  mansions  are  painted  a  faint  whitj^-brown  :  I  lose,  m}'- 
self  in  the  new  squares  and  terraces  of  the  brilliant  bran-new 
Bayswater-and-Tyburn-Junction  line  ;  and  in  one  and  all  of 
these  districts  the  same  truth  comes  across  me.  I  stop  before 
any  house  at  hazard,  and  sa}^  O  house,  you  are  inhabited  — 
O  knocker,  3^ou  are  knocked  at  —  O  undressed  flunky,  sunning 
your  lazy  calves  as  3'ou  lean  against  the  iron  railings,  you  are 
paid  —  by  Snobs."  It  is  a  tremendous  thought  that ;  and  it  is 
almost  sufficient  to  drive  a  benevolent  mind  to  madness  to  think 
that  perhaps  there  is  not  one  in  ten  of  those  houses  where  the 
"  Peerage"  does  not  lie  on  the  drawing-room  table.  Consider- 
ing the  harm  that  foolish  lying  book  does,  I  would  have  all  the 
copies  of  it  burned,  as  the  barber  burned  all  Quixote's  books 
of  humbugging  chivahy. 

Look  at  this  grand  house  in  the  middle  of  the  square.  The 
Earl  of  Loughcorrib  lives  there  :  he  has  fift}^  thousand  a  3'ear. 
A  dejeuner  dansant  given  at  his  house  last  week  cost,  who 
knows  how  much  ?    The  mere  flowers  for  the  room  and  bouquets 


296 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


for  the  ladies  cost  four  hundred  pounds.  That  man  in  drab 
trousers,  coming  cry  ing  down  the  steps,  is  a  dun  :  Lord  Lough- 
corrib  has  ruined  him,  and  won't  see  him  :  that  is,  his  lordship 
is  peeping  through  the  blind  of  his  study  at  him  now.  Go  thy 
wa3's,  Loughcorrib,  thou  art  a  Snob,  a  heartless  pretender, 
a  h^'pocrite  of  hospitality  ;  a  rogue  who  passes  forged  notes 
upon  societj' ;  —  but  I  am  growing  too  eloquent. 

You  see  that  fine  house.  No.  23,  where  a  butcher's  boy  is 
ringing  the  area-bell.  He  has  three  mutton-chops  in  his  tray. 
They  are  for  the  dinner  of  a  very  different  and  very  respectable 
family ;  for  Lady  Susan  Scraper,  and  her  daughters,  Miss 
Scraper  and  Miss  Emily  Scraper.  The  domestics,  luckily  for 
them,  are  on  board  wages  —  two  huge  footmen  in  light  blue 
and  canar}^  a  fat  steady  coachman  who  is  a  Methodist,  and 
a  butler  who  would  never  have  stayed  in  the  family  but  that 
he  was  orderly  to  General  Scraper  when  the  General  distin- 
guished himself  at  Walcheren.  His  widow  sent  his  portrait 
to  the  United  Service  Club,  and  it  is  hung  up  in  one  of  the 
back  dressing-closets  there.  He  is  represented  at  a  parlor 
w^indow  with  red  curtains  ;  in  the  distance  is  a  whirlwind,  in 
which  cannon  are  firing  off;  and  he  is  pointing  to  a  chart, 
on  which  are  written  the  woids    Walcheren,  Tobago." 

Lady  Susan  is,  as  everybody  knows  b}'  referring  to  the 
''British  Bible,"  a  daughter  of  tlie  great  and  good  Earl  Bag- 
wig  before  mentioned.  She  thinks  ever^^tliing  belonging  to  her 
the  greatest  and  best  in  the  world.  The  first  of  men  naturally 
are  the  Buckrams,  her  own  race  :  then  follow  in  rank  the  Scrap- 
ers. The  General  was  the  greatest  general :  his  eldest  son. 
Scraper  Buckram  Scraper,  is  at  present  the  greatest  and  best ; 
his  second  son  the  next  greatest  and  best ;  and  herself  the 
paragon  of  women. 

Lideed,  she  is  a  most  respectable  and  honorable  lady.  She 
goes  to  church  of  course  :  she  would  fancy  the  Church  in  danger 
if  she  did  not.  She  subscribes  to  the  church  and  parish 
charities  ;  and  is  a  directress  of  man}'  meritorious  charitable 
institutions  —  of  Queen  Charlotte's  Lying-in  Hospital,  the 
Washerwomen's  Asylum,  the  British  Drummers'  Daughters' 
Home,  &c.  &c.    She  is  a  model  of  a  matron. 

The  tradesman  never  lived  who  could  say  that  his  bill  was 
not  paid  on  the  quarter-day.  The  beggars  of  her  neighborhood 
avoid  her  like  a  pestilence  ;  for  while  she  walks  out,  protected 
by  John,  that  (lomestic  has  always  two  or  three  mendicity 
tickets  ready  for  deserving  objects.  Ten  guineas  a  year  will 
pay  all  her  charities.     There  is  no  respectable  lady  iu  all  Lon- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


297 


don  who  gets  her  name  more  often  printed  for  such  a  sum  of 
money . 

Those  three  mutton-chops  which  3^ou  see  entering  at  the 
kitchen-door  will  be  served  on  the  family  plate  at  seven  o'clock 
this  evening,  the  huge  footman  being  present,  and  the  butler 
in  black,  and  the  crest  and  coat-of-arms  of  the  Scrapers  blazing 
everywhere.  I  pity  Miss  Emily  Scraper  —  she  is  still  young  — 
young  and  hungry.  Is  it  a  fact  that  she  spends  her  pocket- 
inoney  in  buns  ?  ^  Malicious  tongues  say  so  ;  but  she  has  very 
little  to  spare  for  buns,  the  poor  little  hungry  soul !  For  the 
fact  is,  that  when  the  footmen,  and  the  ladies'-maids,  and  the 
fat  coach-horses,  which  are  jobbed,  and  the  six  dinner-parties 
in  the  season,  and  the  two  great  solemn  evening-parties,  and 
the  rent  of  the  big  house,  and  the  journey  to  an  English  or 
foreign  watering-place  for  the  autumn,  are  paid,  my  lady's 
income  has  dwindled  awaj^  to  a  very  small  sum,  and  she  is  as 
poor  as  you  or  I. 

You  would  not  think  it  when  3'ou  saw  her  big  carriage  rat- 
tling up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
plumes,  lappets,  and  diamonds,  waving  over  her  lad3'ship's 
sandy  hair  and  majestical  hooked  nose  ;  —  you  would  not  think 
it  when  you  hear  Lady  Susan  Scraper's  carriage"  bawled  out 
at  midnight  so  as  to  disturb  all  Belgravia ;  —  you  would  not 
think  it  when  she  comes  rustling  into  church,  the  obsequious 
John  behind  with  the  bag  of  Pra3^er-books.  Is  it  possible, 
you  would  say,  that  so  grand  and  awful  a  personage  as  that 
can  be  hard-up  for  money?    Alas  !  so  it  is. 

Slid  never  heard  such  a  word  as  Snob,  I  will  engage,  in  this 
wicked  and  vulgar  world.  And,  O  stars  and  garters  !  how  she 
would  start  if  she  heard  that  she  —  she,  as  solemn  as  Minerva 
—  she,  as  chaste  as  Diana  (without  that  heathen  goddess's 
unladylike  propensit}^  for  field-sports)  —  that  she  too  was  a 
Snob ! 

A  Snob  she  is,  as  long  as  she  sets  that  prodigious  value 
upon  herself,  upon  her  name,  upon  her  outward  appearance, 
and  indulges  in  that  intolerable  pom  posit}' ;  as  long  as  she  goes 
parading  abroad,  like  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  ;  as  long  as  she 
goes  to  bed  —  as  I  believe  she  does  —  with  a  turban  and  a  bird 
of  paradise  in  it,  and  a  court  train  to  her  night-gown  ;  as  long 
as  she  is  so  insufferably-  virtuous  and  condescending  ;  as  long 
as  she  does  not  cut  at  least  one  of  those  footmen  down  into 
mutton-chops  for  the  benefit  of  the  young  ladies. 

I  had  my  notions  of  her  from  ni}'  old  schoolfellow,  —  her 
son  Sydney  Scraper  —  a  Chancery  barrister  without  any  prac- 


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tice  —  the  most  placid,  polite,  and  genteel  of  Snobs,  who  never 
exceeded  his  allowance  of  two  hundred  a  year,  and  who  may 
he  seen  any  evening  at  the  ''Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club," 
simpering  over  the  Quarterly  Review^  in  the  blameless  enjoy- 
ment of  his  half-pint  of  port. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ON  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SNOBS. 

Look  at  the  next  house  to  Lady  Susan  Scraper's.  The  first 
mansion  with  the  awning  over  the  door  :  that  canopy  will  be  let 
down  this  evening  for  the  comfort  of  the  friends  of  Sir  Alured 
and  Lady  S.  de  Mog^^ns,  whose  parties  are  so  much  admired 
by  the  public  and  the  givers  themselves. 

Peach-colored  liveries  laced  with  silver,  and  pea-green  plush 
inexpressibles,  render  the  De  Mogyns's  flunkies  the  pride  of  the 
ring  when  they  appear  in  Hj^de  Park,  where  Lady  de  Mog3'ns, 
as  she  sits  upon  her  satin  cushions,  with  her  dwarf  spaniel  in 
her  arms,  only  bows  to  the  very  selectest  of  the  genteel.  Times 
are  altered  now  with  Mary  Anne,  or,  as  she  calls  herself, 
Marian  de  Mogj^ns. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Captain  Flack  of  the  Rathdrum 
Fencibles,  who  crossed  with  his  regiment  over  from  Ireland  to 
Caermarthenshire  ever  so  many  years  ago,  and  defended  Wales 
from  the  Corsican  invader.  The  Rathdrums  were  quartered  at 
Pontydwdlm,  where  Marian  wooed  and  won  her  De  Mogyns,  a 
3^oung  banker  in  the  place.  His  attentions  to  Miss  Flack  at  a 
race  ball  were  such  that  her  father  said  De  Mog^^ns  must  either 
die  on  the  field  of  honor,  or  become  his  son-in-law.  He  pre- 
ferred marriage.  His  name  was  Muggins  then,  and  his  father 
—  a  flourisliing  banker,  army-contractor,  smuggler,  and  general 
jobber  —  almost  disinherited  him  on  account  of  this  connection. 
There  is  a  story  that  Muggins  the  Ekler  was  made  a  baronet 
for  having  lent  money  to  a  R-y-1  p-rs-n-ge.  I  do  not  believe 
it.  The  R-y-1  Family  always  paid  their  debts,  from  the  Prince 
of  Wales  downwards. 

Howbeit,  to  his  life's  end  he  remained  simple  Sir  Thomas 
Muggins,  representing  Pontydwdlm  in  Parliament  for  many 
years  after  the  war.  The  old  banker  died  in  course  of 
time,  and  to  use  the  affectionate  phrase  common  on  such  occa- 


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299 


sions,  "cut  up"  prodigiously  well.  His  son,  Alfred  Smith 
Mogyns,  succeeded  to  the  main  portion  of  his  wealth,  and  to 
his  titles  and  the  blood}^  hand  of  his  scutcheon.  It  was  not  for 
many  years  after  that  he  appeared  as  Sir  Alured  Mogyns  Smyth 
de  Mogyns,  with  a  genealogy  found  out  for  him  by  the  Editor 
of  "Fluke's  Peerage,"  and  which  appears  as  follows  in  that 
work :  — 

"  De  Mogyns.  —  Sir  Alured  Mogyns  Smyth,  2nd  Baronet.  This  gentle- 
man is  a  representative  of  one  of  the  most  ancient  families  of  Wales,  who 
trace  their  descent  until  it  is  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity.  A  genealogical 
tree  beginning  with  Shem  is  in  the  possession  of  the  family,  and  is  stated 
by  a  legend  of  many  thousand  years'  date  to  have  been  drawn  on  papyrus 
by  a  grandson  of  the  patriarch  himself.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  the  immense  antiquity  of  the  race  of  Mogyns. 

"In  the  time  of  Boadicea,  Hogyn  Mogyn,  of  the  hundred  Beeves,  was  a 
suitor  and  a  rival  of  Caractacus  for  the  hand  of  that  Princess.  He  was  a 
person  gigantic  in  stature,  and  was  slain  by  Suetonius  in  the  battle  which 
terminated  the  liberties  of  Britain.  From  him  descended  directly  the 
Princes  of  Pontydwdlm,  Mogyn  of  the  Golden  Harp,  (see  the  Mabinogion 
of  Lady  Charlotte  Guest,)  Bogyn-Merodac-ap-Mogyn,  (the  black  fiend  son 
of  Mogyn,)  and  a  long  list  of  bards  and  warriors,  celebrated  both  in  Wales 
and  Armorica.  The  independent  Princes  of  Mogjai  long  held  out  against 
the  ruthless  Kings  of  England,  until  finally  Gam  Mogyns  made  his  submis- 
sion to  Prince  Henry,  son  of  Henry  IV.,  and  under  the  name  of  Sir  David 
Gam  de  Mogyns,  was  distinguished  at  the  battle  of  Agincourt.  From  him 
the  present  Baronet  is  descended.  (And  here  the  descent  follows  in  order 
until  it  comes  to)  Thomas  Muggins,  first  Baronet  of  Pontydwdlm  Castle, 
for  28  years  Member  of  Parliament  for  that  borough,  who  had  issue, 
Alured  Mogyns  Smyth,  the  present  Baronet,  who  married  Marian,  daughter 
of  the  late  General  P.  Flack,  of  Ballyflack,  in  the  Kingdom  of  Ireland,  of 
the  Counts  Flack  of  the  H.  R.  Empire.  Sir  Alured  has  issue,  Alured 
Caradoc,  born  1819,  Marian,  1811,  Blanche  Adeliza,  Emily  Doria,  Adelaide 
Obleans,  Katinka  Rostopchin,  Patrick  Flack,  died  1809. 

**  Arms  —  a  mullion  garbled,  gules  on  a  saltire  reversed  of  the  second. 
Crest  —  a  tom-tit  rampant  regardant.    Motto  —  Ung  Roy  ung  Mogyns  J' 

It  was  long  before  Lady  de  Mogyns  shone  as  a  star  in  the 
fashionable  world.  At  first,  poor  Muggins  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  Flacks,  the  Clancys,  the  Tooles,  the  Shanahans,  his  wife's 
Irish  relations  ;  and  whilst  he  was  yet  but  heir-apparent,  his 
house  overflowed  with  claret  and  the  national  nectar,  for  the 
benefit  of  his  Hibernian  relatives.  Tom  Tufto  absolutely  left 
the  street  in  which  they  lived  in  London,  because  he  said  "  it 
was  infected  with  such  a  confounded  smell  of  whiske}'  from  the 
house  of  those  Iwish  people."  ~  * 

It  was  abroad  that  they  learned  to  bdi||iiteel.  They  pushed 
into  all  foreign  courts,  and  elbowed  their  wliy  into  the  halls  of 
Ambassadors.    They  pounced  npon  the  stray  nobility,  and 


300 


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seized  young  lords  travelling  with  their  bear-leaders.  The}' 
gave  parties  at  Naples,  Rome,  and  Paris.  They  got  a  Royal 
Prince  to  attend  their  soirees  at  the  latter  place,  and  it  was  here 
that  they  first  appeared  under  the  name  of  De  Mogyns,  which 
they  bear  with  such  splendor  to  this  day. 

All  sorts  of  stories  are  told  of  the  desperate  efforts  made  by 
the  indomitable  Lad}'  de  Mogyns  to  gain  the  place  she  now 
occupies,  and  those  of  my  beloved  readers  who  live  in  middle 
life,  and  are  unacquainted  with  the  frantic  struggles,  the  wicked 
feuds,  the  intrigues,  cabals,  and  disappointments  which,  as  I 
am  given  to  understand,  reign  in  the  fashionable  world,  may 
bless  their  stars  that  they  at  least  are  not  fashionable  Snobs. 
The  intrigues  set  afoot  by  the  De  Mogyns  to  get  the  Duchess 
of  Buckskin  to  her  parties,  would  strike  a  Talle3'rand  with 
admiration.  She  had  a  brain  fever  after  being  disappointed  of 
an  invitation  to  Lad}'  Aldermanbury's  the  dansant^  and  would 
have  committed  suicide  but  for  a  ball  at  Windsor.  I  have  the 
following  story  from  my  noble  friend  Lady  Clapperclaw  herself, 
—  Lady  Kathleen  O'Shaughnessy  that  was,  and  daughter  of  the 
Earl  of  Turfanthunder  :  — 

"When  that  ojous  disguised  Irishwoman,  Lady  Muggins, 
was  struggling  to  take  her  place  in  the  world,  and  was  bringing 
out  her  hidjous  daughter  Blanche,"  said  old  Lady  Clapperclaw 
— (Marian  has  a  humpback  and  doesn't  show,  but  she's  the 
only  lady  in  the  family)  —  when  that  wretched  Polly  Muggins 
was  bringing  out  Blanche,  with  her  radish  of  a  nose,  and  her 
carrots  of  ringlets,  and  her  turnip  for  a  face,  she  was  most 
anxious  —  as  her  father  had  been  a  cow-boy  on  my  father's 
land  —  to  be  patronized  by  us,  and  asked  me  point-blank,  in 
the  midst  of  a  silence  at  Count  Volauvent's,  the  French  Ambas- 
sador's dinner,  why  I  had  not  sent  her  a  card  for  my  ball? 

"  '  Because  my  rooms  are  already  too  full,  and  your  ladyship 
would  be  crowded  inconveniently,'  says  I ;  indeed  she  takes  up 
as  much  room  as  an  elephant :  besides  I  wouldn't  have  her,  and 
that  was  flat. 

I  thought  ray  answer  was  a  settler  to  her:  but  the  next 
day  she  comes  weeping  to  my  arms  — '  Dear  Lady  Clapper- 
claw,' says  she,  '  it's  not  for  me  ;  I  ask  it  for  my  blessed 
Blanche  !  a  young  creature  in  iier  first  season,  and  not  at  your 
ball !  My  tender  child  will  pine  and  die  of  vexation.  /  don't 
want  to  come.  /  wi^stay  at  home  to  nurse  Sir  Alured  in  the 
gout.  Mrs.  Bolste^pJ  going,  I  know ;  she  will  be  Blanche's 
chaperon.'  • 

"  'You  wouldn't  subscribe  for  the  Rathdrura  blanket  and 


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301 


potato  fund ;  you,  who  come  out  of  the  parish,'  says  I,  '  and 
whose  grandfather,  honest  man,  kept  cows  there.' 

'Will  twenty  guineas  be  enough,  dearest  Lady  Clapper- 
claw ? ' 

'  Twenty  guineas  is  sufficient,'  says  I,  and  she  paid  them ; 
so  I  said,  '  Blanche  may  come,  but  not  you,  mind:'  and  she 
left  me  with  a  world  of  thanks. 

''Would  you  beheve  it?  —  when  my  ball  came,  the  horrid 
woman  made  her  appearance  with  her  daughter !  '  Didn't  I 
tell  you  not  to  come?'  said  I,  in  a  might}^  passion.  'What 
would  the  world  have  said?'  cries  my  Lady  Muggins:  'my 
carriage  is  gone  for  Sir  Alured  to  the  Club  ;  let  me  stay  only 
ten  minutes,  dearest  Lady  Clapperclaw.' 

"'Well,  as  you  are  here,  madam,  3'ou  ma}^  stay  and  get 
3'our  supper,'  I  answered,  and  so  left  her,  and  never  spoke  a 
word  more  to  her  all  night. 

"  And  now,"  screamed  out  old  Lady  Clapperclaw,  clapping 
her  hands,  and  speaking  with  more  brogue  than  ever,  "  what 
do  you  think,  after  all  my  kindness  to  her,  the  wicked,  vulgar, 
odious,  impudent  upstart  of  a  cow-boy's  granddaughter,  has 
done  ?  —  she  cut  me  yesterday  in  H}^'  Park,  and  hasn't  sent  me 
a  ticket  for  her  ball  to-night,  though  they  say  Prince  George  is 
to  be  there." 

Yes,  such  is  the  fact.  In  the  race  of  fashion  the  resolute 
and  active  De  Mogyns  has  passed  the  poor  old  Clapperclaw. 
Her  progress  in  gentilit}^  may  be  traced  by  the  sets  of  friends 
whom  she  has  courted,  and  made,  and  cut,  and  left  behind  her. 
She  has  struggled  so  gallantly  for  polite  reputation  that  she  has 
won  it :  pitilessly  kicking  down  the  ladder  as  she  advanced 
degree  by  degree. 

Her  Irish  relations  were  first  sacrificed  ;  she  made  her  father 
dine  in  the  steward's  room,  to  his  perfect  contentment:  and 
would  send  Sir  Alured  thither  likewise,  but  that  he  is  a  peg  on 
which  she  hopes  to  hang  her  future  honors  ;  and  is,  after  all, 
pa3'master  of  her  daughter's  fortunes.  He  is  meek  and  content. 
He  has  been  so  long  a  gentleman  that  he  is  used  to  it,  and  acts 
the  part  of  governor  very  well.  In  the  daytime  he  goes  from 
the  "Union"  to  "Arthur's,"  and  from  "Arthur's"  to  the 
"Union."  He  is  a  dead  hand  at  piquet,  and  loses  a  very 
comfortable  maintenance  to  some  young  fellows,  at  whist,  at 
the  "  Travellers."  ^ 

His  son  has  taken  his  father's  seat  iijl^rli anient,  and  has 
of  course  joined  Young  England.  He  is  the  only  man  in  the 
country  who  believes  in  the  De  Mogj'nses,  and  sighs  for  the 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


days  when  a  De  Mogjms  led  the  van  of  battle.  He  has 
written  a  little  volume  of  spooney  puny  poems.  He  wears 
a  lock  of  the  hair  of  Laud,  the  Confessor  and  Martyr,  and 
fainted  when  he  kissed  the  Pope's  toe  at  Rome.  He  sleeps 
in  white  kid-gloves,  and  commits  dangerous  excesses  upon 
green  tea. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

GREAT    CITY  SNOBS. 

There  is  no  disguising  the  fact  that  this  series  of  papers  is 
making  a  prodigious  sensation  among  all  classes  in  this  Empire. 
Notes  of  admiration  (  ! ),  of  interrogation  (?),  of  remonstrance, 
approval,  or  abuse,  come  pouring  into  Mr,  Punch's  box.  We 
have  been  called  to  task  for  betraying  the  secrets  of  three  dif- 
ferent families  of  De  Mogyns  ;  no  less  than  four  Lady  Susan 
Scrapers  have  been  discovered  ;  and  j^oung  gentlemen  are  quite 
shy  of  ordering  half  a  pint  of  port  and  simpering  over  the 
Quarterly  Review  at  the  Club,  lest  they  should  be  mistaken  for 
SjTlney  Scraper,  Esq.  ''What  can  be  your  antipathy  to  Baker 
Street  ?  "  asks  some  fair  remonstrant,  evidently  writing  from 
that  quarter. 

Why  only  attack  the  aristocratic  Snobs?"  sa3'S  one  esti- 
mable correspondent:  ''are  not  the  snobbish  Snobs  to  have 
their  turn?"  —  "  Pitch  into  the  University  Snobs  !  "  writes  an 
indignant  gentleman  (who  spells  elegant  with  two  /'s).  —  "  Show 
up  the  Clerical  Snob,"  suggests  anotlier.  —  "  Being  at '  Meurice's 
Hotel,'  Paris,  some  time  since,"  some- wag  hints,  "  I  saw  Lord 
B.  leaning  out  of  the  window  with  his  boots  in  his  hand,  and 
bawled  out,  '  Gargon^  cirez-moi  ces  bottes,'  Oughtn't  he  to  be 
brought  in  among  the  Snobs  ?  " 

No  ;  far  from  it.  If  his  lordship's  boots  are  dirty,  it  is 
because  he  is  Lord  B.,  and  walks.  There  is  nothing  snobbish 
in  having  onl}^  one  pair  of  boots,  or  a  favorite  pair ;  and  cer- 
tainly nothing  snobbish  in  desiring  to  have  them  cleaned.  Lord 
B.,  in  so  doing,  performed  a  perfectly  natural  and  gentleman- 
like action  ;  for  whiijh  I  am  so  pleased  with  him  that  I  have  had 
him  designed  in  u4lfe'0rable  and  elegant  attitude,  and  put  at 
the  head  of  this  Chapter  in  the  place  of  honor.*   No,  we  are  not 

*  This  refers  to  an  illustrated  edition  of  the  work. 


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303 


personal  in  these  candid  remarks.  As  Phidias  took  the  pick 
of  a  score  of  beauties  before  he  completed  a  Venus,  so  have  we 
to  examine,  perhaps,  a  thousand  Snobs,  before  one  is  expressed 
upon  paper. 

Great  Cit}^  Snobs  are  the  next  in  the  hierarchy,  and  ought 
to  be  considered.  But  here  is  a  difficulty.  The  great  City 
Snob  is  commonl}^  most  difficult  of  access.  Unless  you  are  a 
capitalist,  you  cannot  visit  him  in  the  recesses  of  his  bank  par- 
lor in  Lombard  Street.  Unless  you  are  a  sprig  of  nobility,  there 
is  little  hope  of  seeing  him  at  home.  In  a  great  City  Snob  firm 
there  is  generally  one  partner  whose  name  is  down  for  charities, 
and  who  frequents  Exeter  Hall ;  3  ou  ma}^  catch  a  glimpse  of 

another  (a  scientific  City  Snob)  at  my  Lord  N  's  somes^  or 

the  lectures  of  the  London  Institution  ;  of  a  third  (a  City  Snob 
of  taste)  at  picture-auctions,  at  private  views  of  exhibitions,  or 
at  the  Opera  or  the  Philharmonic.  But  intimacy  is  impossible, 
in  most  cases,  with  this  grave,  pompous,  and  awful  being. 

A  mere  gentleman  may  hope  to  sit  at  almost  anybody's  table 
—  to  take  his  place  at  my  lord  duke's  in  the  country  —  to  dance 
a  quadrille  at  Buckingham  Palace  itself  —  (beloved  Lady  Wil- 
helmina  Waggle-wiggle !  do  3'OU  recollect  the  sensation  we 
made  at  the  ball  of  our  late  adored  Sovereign  Queen  Caroline, 
at  Brandenburg  House,  Hammersmith?)  but  the  cit}"  Snob's 
doors  are,  for  the  most  part,  closed  to  him  ;  and  hence  all  that 
one  knows  of  this  great  class  is  mosth^  from  hearsay. 

In  other  countries  of  Europe,  the  Banking  Snob  is  more 
expansive  and  communicative  than  with  us,  and  receives  all 
the  world  into  his  circle.  For  instance,  everybod}'  knows  the, 
princely  hospitalities  of  the  Scharlaschild  family  at  Paris, 
Naples,  Frankfort,  &c.  They  entertain  all  the  world,  even  the 
poor,  at  their  fetes  r  Prince  Polonia,  at  Rome,  and  his  brother, 
the  Duke  of  Starchino,  are  also  remarkable  for  their  hospital- 
ities. I  like  the  spirit  of  the  first-named  nobleman.  Titles  not 
costing  much  in  the  Roman  territory,  he  has  had  the  head  clerk 
of  the  banking-house  made  a  Marquis  and  his  Lordship  will 
screw  a  hajocco  out  of  you  in  exchange  as  dexterously  as  any 
commoner  could  do.  It  is  a  comfort  to  be  able  to  gratify  such 
grandees  with  a  farthing  or  two  ;  it  makes  the  poorest  man  feel 
that  he  can  do  good.  The  Polonias  have  intermarried  with  the 
greatest  and  most  ancient  families  of  Rome,  and  you  see  their 
heraldic  cognizance  (a  mushroom  or  on  an  azure  field)  quartered 
in  a  hundred  places  in  the  cit}',  with  the  arms  of  the  Colonnas 
and  Dorias. 

Our  City  Snobs  have  the  same  mania  for  aristocratic  mar- 


304 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


riages.  I  like  to  see  such.  I  am  of  a  savage  and  envious 
nature,  —  I  like  to  see  these  two  humbugs  which,  dividing,  as 
the}'  do,  the  social  empire  of  this  kingdom  between  them,  hate 
each  other  naturally,  making  truce  and  uniting,  for  the  sordid 
interests  of  either.  I  like  to  see  an  old  aristocrat,  swelhng  with 
pride  of  race,  the  descendant  of  illustrious  Norman  robbers, 
whose  blood  has  been  pure  for  centuries,  and  who  looks  down 
upon  common  Englishmen  as  a  free-born  American  does  on  a 
nigger,  —  I  like  to  see  old  Stiffneck  obliged  to  bow  down  his 
head  and  swallow  his  infernal  pride,  and  drink  the  cup  of  humil- 
iation poured  out  by  Pump  and  Aldgate's  butler.  Pump  and 
Aldgate,"  says  he,  "your  grandfather  was  a  bricklayer,  and 
his  hod  is  still  kept  in  the  bank.  Your  pedigree  begins  in  a 
workhouse  ;  mine  can  be  dated  from  all  the  ro3^al  palaces  of 
Europe.  I  came  over  with  the  Conqueror  ;  I  am  own  cousin 
to  Charles  Martel,  Orlando  Furioso,  PliiHp  Augustus,  Peter  the 
Cruel,  and  Frederick  Barbarossa.  I  quarter  the  Ro3'al  Arms 
of  Brentford  in  my  coat.  I  despise  3'ou,  but  I  want  money  ; 
and  1  will  sell  3^ou  my  beloved  daughter,  Blanche  Stiffneck,  for 
a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  to  pay  off  my  mortgages.  Let 
your  son  marry  her,  and  she  shall  become  Lady  Blanche  Pump 
and  Aldgate." 

Old  Pump  and  Aldgate  clutches  at  the  bargain.  And  a 
comfortable  thing  it  is  to  think  that  birth  can  be  bought  for 
money.  So  you  learn  to  value  it.  Why  should  we,  who  don't 
possess  it,  set  a  higher  store  on  it  than  those  who  do  ?  Perhaps 
the  best  use  of  that  book,  the  ''  Peerage,"  is  to  look  down  the 
list,  and  see  how  many  have  bought  and  sold  birth,  — -how  poor 
sprigs  of  nobility  somehow  sell  themselves  to  rich  City  Snobs' 
daughters,  how  rich  City  Snobs  purchase  noble  ladies  — and  so 
to  admire  the  double  baseness  of  the  bargain. 

Old  Pump  and  Aldgate  buys  the  article  and  pays  the  money. 
The  sale  of  the  girl's  person  is  blessed  by  a  Bishop  at  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square,  and  next  year  3^ou  read,  "  At  Roe- 
hampton,  on  Saturday,  the  Ladj^  Blanche  Pump,  of  a  son 
and  heir." 

After  this  interesting  event,  some  old  acquaintance,  who 
saw  young  Pump  in  the  parlor  at  the  bank  in  the  City,  said  to 
him,  familiarly,  "  How's  your  wife.  Pump,  my  boy?" 

Mr.  Pump  looked  exceedingly  puzzled  and  disgusted,  and, 
after  a  pause,  said,  ^'^  Lady  Blanche  Pump  is  pretty  well,  I 
thank  you." 

"  OA,  /  thought  she  was  your  wife!''  said  the  familiar  brute, 
Snooks,  wishing  him  good-by ;  and  ten  minutes  after,  the 


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305 


etorj^  was  all  over  the  Stock  Exchange,  where  it  is  told,  when 
young  Pump  appears,  to  this  very  day. 

We  can  imagine  the  weary  life  this  poor  Pump,  this  martjT 
to  Mammon,  is  compelled  to  undergo.  Fancy  the  domestic 
enjoyments  of  a  man  who  has  a  wife  who  scorns  him  ;  who 
cannot  see  his  own  friends  in  his  own  house  ;  who  having 
deserted  the  middle  rank  of  life,  is  not  yet  admitted  to  the 
higher ;  but  who  is  resigned  to  rebuffs  and  delay  and  humilia- 
tion, contented  to  think  that  his  son  will  be  more  fortunate. 

It  used  to  be  the  custom  of  some  very  old-fashioned  clubs 
in  this  city,  when  a  gentleman  asked  for  change  for  a  guinea, 
alwa3^s  to  bring  it  to  him  in  washed  silver:  that  which  had 
passed  immediately^  out  of  the  hands  of  the  vulgar  being  con- 
sidered ''as  too  coarse  to  soil  a  gentleman's  fingers."  So, 
when  the  Cit}^  Snob's  money  has  been  washed  during  a  genera- 
tion or  so ;  has  been  washed  into  estates,  and  woods,  and 
castles,  and  town-mansions,  it  is  allowed  to  pass  current  as 
real  aristocratic  coin.  Old  Pump  sweeps  a  shop,  runs  of 
messages,  becomes  a  confidential  clerk  and  partner.  Pump 
the  Second  becomes  chief  of  the  house,  spins  more  and  more 
mone}',  marries  his  son  to  an  Pearl's  daughter.  Pump  Tertius 
goes  on  with  the  bank :  but  his  chief  business  in  life  is  to 
become  the  father  of  Pump  Quartus,  who  comes  out  a  full- 
blown aristocrat,  and  takes  his  seat  as  Baron  Pumpington, 
and  his  race  rules  hereditarily  over  this  nation  of  Snobs. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ON  SOME  MILITARY  SNOBS. 

As  no  society  in  the  world  is  more  agreeable  than  that  of 
well-bred  and  well-informed  military  gentlemen,  so,  likewise, 
none  is  more  insufferable  than  that  of  Military  Snobs.  They 
are  to  be  found  of  all  grades,  from  the  General  Officer,  whose 
padded  old  breast  twinkles  over  with  a  score  of  stars,  clasps, 
and  decorations,  to  the  budding  cornet,  who  is  shaving  for 
a  beard,  and  has  just  been  appointed  to  the  Saxe-Coburg 
Lancers. 

I  have  always  admired  that  dispensation  of  rank  in  our 
country,  which  sets  up  this  last-named  little  creature  (who 

20 


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was  flogged  only  last  week  because  he  could  not  spell)  to  com- 
mand great  whiskered  warriors,  who  have  faced  all  dangers  of 
climate  and  battle  ;  which,  because  he  has  mone}^  to  lodge  at 
the  agent's,  will  place  him  over  the  heads  of  men  who  have 
a  thousand  times  more  experience  and  desert :  and  which,  in 
the  course  of  time,  will  bring  him  all  the  honors  of  his  profes- 
sion, when  the  veteran  soldier  he  commanded  has  got  no  other 
reward  for  his  braver}^  than  a  berth  in  Chelsea  Hospital, 
and  the  veteran  officer  he  superseded  has  slunk  into  shabb}^ 
retirement,  and  ends  his  disappointed  life  on  a  threadbare 
half-pa3\ 

When  I  read  in  the  Gazette  such  announcements  as  ' '  Lieu- 
tenant and  Captain  Grig,  from  the  Bombardier  Guards,  to  be  . 
Ca^Dtain,  vice  Grizzle,  who  retires,"  I  know  what  becomes  of 
the  Peninsular  Grizzle  ;  I  follow  him  in  spirit  to  the  humble 
countr}'  town,  where  he  takes  up  his  quarters,  and  occupies 
himself  with  the  most  desperate  attempts  to  live  like  a  gentle- 
man, on  the  stipend  of  half  a  tailor's  foreman  ;  and  I  picture 
to  myself  little  Grig  rising  from  rank  to  rank,  skipping  from 
one  regiment  to  another,  with  an  increased  grade  in  each, 
avoiding  disagreeable  foreign  service,  and  ranking  as  a  colonel 
at  thirt}^ ;  —  all  because  he  has  money,  and  Lord  Grisgb}'  is  his 
father,  who  had  the  same  hick  before  him.  Grig  must  blush 
at  first  to  give  his  orders  to  old  men  in  every  wa}'  his  betters. 
And  as  it  is  very  difficult  for  a  spoiled  child  to  escape  being 
selfish  and  arrogant,  so  it  is  a  ver}^  hard  task  indeed  for  this 
spoiled  child  of  fortune  not  to  be  a  Snob. 

It  must  have  often  been  a  matter  of  wonder  to  the  candid 
reader,  that  the  arm}',  the  most  enormous  job  of  all  our  political 
institutions,  should  yet  work  so  well  in  the  field  ;  and  we  must 
cheerfully  give  Grig,  and  his  like,  the  credit  for  courage  which 
the}'  display  whenever  occasion  calls  for  it.  The  Duke's  dandy 
regiments  fought  as  well  as  any  (they  said  better  than  any,  but 
that  is  absurd).  The  great  Duke  himself  was  a  dandy  once, 
and  jobbed  on,  as  Marlborough  did  before  him.  But  tliis  only  ' 
[proves  that  dandies  are  brave  as  well  as  other  Britons  —  as  all 
Britons.  Let  us  concede  that  the  high-born  Grig  rode  into  the 
entrenchments  at  Sobraon  as  gallantly  a^  Corporal  Wallop,  the 
ex-ploughboy. 

The  tim(is  of  war  are  more  favorable  to  him  than  the  periods 
of  peace.  Think  of  Grig's  life  in  the  Bombardier  Guards,  or 
the  Jack-boot  Guards  ;  his  marches  from  AVindsor  to  London, 
from  London  to  Windsor,  from  Knightsbridge  to  Regent's 
Park ;  the  idiotic  services  he  has  to  perform,  which  consist  in 


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307 


inspecting  the  pipeclay  of  his  company,  or  the  horses  in  the 
stable,  or  bellowing  out  ''Shoulder  humps!  Carry  humps  !  " 
all  which  duties  the  very  smallest  intellect  that  ever  belonged 
to  mortal  man  would  suffice  to  comprehend.  The  professional 
duties  of  a  footman  are  quite  as  difficult  and  various.  The 
red-jackets  who  hold  gentlemen's  horses  in  St.  James's  Street 
could  do  the  work  just  as  well  as  those  vacuous,  good-natured, 
gentleman-like,  rickety  little  lieutenants,  who  may  be  seen 
sauntering  about  Tall  Mall,  in  high-heeled  little  boots,  or  rally- 
ing round  the  standard  of  their  regiment  in  the  Palace  Court,  at 
eleven  o'clock,  when  the  band  plays.  Did  the  beloved  reader 
ever  see  one  of  the  3^oung  fellows  staggering  under  the  flag,  or, 
above  all,  going  through  the  operation  of  saluting  it?  It  is 
worth  a  walk  to  the  Palace  to  witness  that  magnificent  piece  of 
tomfoolery. 

I  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  once  or  twice  an  old  gentle- 
man, whom  I  look  upon  to  be  a  specimen  of  army-training,  and 
who  has  served  in  crack  regiments,  or  commanded  them,  all 
his  life.  I  allude  to  Lieutenant-General  the  Honorable  Sir 
George  Granby  Tufto,  K.C.B.,  K.T.S.,  K.H.,  K.S.W.,  &c.  &c. 
His  manners  are  irreproachable  generally ;  in  society  he  is  a 
perfect  gentleman,  and  a  most  thorough  Snob. 

A  man  can't  help  being  a  fool,  be  he  ever  so  old,  and  Sir 
George  is  a  greater  ass  at  sixty-eight  than  he  was  when  he  first 
entered  the  arm}^  at  fifteen.  He  distinguished  himself  every- 
where :  his  name  is  mentioned  with  praise  in  a  score  of  Gazettes  : 
he  is  the  man,  in  fact,  whose  padded  breast,  twinkling  over 
with  innumerable  decorations,  has  alread}^  been  introduced  to 
the  reader.  It  is  difficult  to  sa}^  what  virtues  this  prosperous 
gentleman  possesses.  He  never  read  a  book  in  his  life,  and, 
with  his  purple,  old  gouty  fingers,  still  writes  a  schoolboy 
hand.  He  has  reached  old  age  and  gray  hairs  without  being 
the  least  venerable.  He  dresses  hke  an  outrageously  young 
man  to  the  present  moment,  and  laces  and  pads  his  old  carcass 
as  if  he  were  still  handsome  George  Tufto  of  1800.  He  is 
selfish,  brutal,  passionate,  and  a  glutton.  It  is  curious  to 
mark  him  at  table,  and  see  him  heaving  in  his  w^aistband,  his 
little  bloodshot  eyes  gloating  over  his  meal.  He  swears  con- 
siderably in  his  talk,  and  tells  filthy  garrison  stories  after 
dinner.  On  account  of  his  rank  and  his  services,  people  pay 
the  bestarred  and  betitled  old  brute  a  sort  of  reverence  ;  and 
he  looks  down  upon  you  and  me,  and  exhibits  his  contempt  for 
us,  with  a  stupid  and  artless  candor  which  is  quite  amusing  to 
watch.    Perhaps,  had  he  been  bred  to  another  profession,  he 


308 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


would  not  have  been  the  disreputable  old  creature  he  now  is. 
But  what  other  ?  He  was  fit  for  none  ;  too  incorrigibly  idle 
and  dull  for  an}^  trade  but  this,-  in  which  he  has  distinguished 
himself  publicl}'  as  a  good  and  gallant  officer,  and  privately  for 
riding  races,  drinking  port,  fighting  duels,  and  seducing  women. 
He  believes  himself  to  be  one  of  the  most  honorable  and  deserv- 
ing beings  in  the  world.  About  Waterloo  Place,  of  afternoons, 
you  may  see  him  tottering  in  his  varnished  boots,  and  leering 
under  the  bonnets  of  the  women  who  pass  by.  When  he  dies 
of  apoplexy,  The  Times  wall  have  a  quarter  of  a  column  about 
his  services  and  battles  —  four  lines  of  print  will  be  wanted  to 
describe  his  titles  and  orders  alone  —  and  the  earth  will  cover 
one  of  the  wickedest  and  dullest  old  wretches  that  ever  strutted 
over  it. 

Lest  it  should  be  imagined  that  I  am  of  so  obstinate  a  mis- 
anthropic nature  as  to  be  satisfied  with  nothing,  I  beg  (for  the 
comfort  of  the  forces)  to  state  my  belief  that  the  army  is  not 
composed  of  such  persons  as  the  above.  He  has  only  been 
selected  for  the  study  of  civilians  and  the  military,  as  a  speci- 
men of  a  prosperous  and  bloated  arm}^  Snob.  No :  when 
epaulets  are  not  sold ;  when  corporal  punishments  are  abol- 
ished, and  Corporal  Smith  has  a  chance  to  have  his  gallantry 
rewarded  as  well  as  that  of  Lieutenant  Grig  ;  when  there  is  no 
such  rank  as  ensign  and  lieutenant  (the  existence  of  which 
rank  is  an  absurd  anomaly,  and  an  insult  upon  all  the  rest  of 
the  army),  and  should  there  be  no  war,  I  should  not  be  dis- 
inclined to  be  a  major-general  myself. 

I  have  a  little  sheaf  of  Army  Snobs  in  my  portfolio,  but 
shall  pause  in  my  attack  upon  the  forces  till  next  week. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MILITARY  SNOBS. 

Walking  in  the  Park  yesterday  with  ray  young  friend  Tagg, 
and  discoursing  with  him  upon  the  next  number  of  the  Snob,  at 
the  very  nick  of  time  who  should  pass  us  but  two  very  good 
specimens  of  Militarv  Snobs, — the  Sporting  MiHtary  Snob, 
Capt.  Rag,  and  the  '''larking'^  or  raffish  Military  Snob,  Ensign 
Famish.  Indeed  you  are  fully  sure  to  meet  them  lounging  on 
horseback,  about  five  o'clock,  under  the  trees  by  the  Serpen- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


309 


tine,  examining  critically  the  inmates  of  the  flashy  broughams 
which  parade  up  and  down     the  Lady's  Mile." 

Tagg  and  Rag  are  very  well  acquainted,  and  so  the  former, 
with  that  candor  inseparal3le  from  intimate  friendship,  told  me 
his  dear  friend's  history.  Captain  Rag  is  a  small  dapper  north- 
country  man.  He  went  when  quite  a  boy  into  a  crack  light 
cavalry  regiment,  and  by  the  time  he  got  his  troop,  had  cheated 
all  his  brother  officers  so  completely,  selling  them  lame  horses 
for  sound  ones,  and  winning  their  money  by  all  manner  of 
strange  and  ingenious  contrivances,  that  his  Colonel  advised 
him  to  retire  ;  which  he  did  without  much  reluctance,  accom- 
modating a  youngster,  who  had  just  entered  the  regiment,  with 
a  glandered  charger  at  an  nncommonl}'  stiff  figure. 

He  has  since  devoted  his  time  to  billiards,  steeple-chasin-g, 
and  the  turf.  His  head-quarters  are  Rummer's,''  in  Conduit 
Street,  where  he  keeps  his  kit ;  but  he  is  ever  on  the  move  in 
the  exercise  of  his  vocation  as  a  gentleman-jocke}^  and  gentle- 
man-leg. 

According  to  BeWs  Life,  he  is  an  invariable  attendant  at  all 
races,  and  an  actor  in  most  of  them.  He  rode  the  winner  at 
Leamington  ;  he  was  left  for  dead  in  a  ditch  a  fortnight  ago  at 
Harrow ;  and  yet  there  he  was,  last  week,  at  the  Croix  de 
Berny,  pale  and  determined  as  ever,  astonishing  the  badauds 
of  Paris  hy  the  elegance  of  his  seat  and  the  neatness  of  his  rig, 
as  he  took  a  preliminar}^  gallop  on  that  vicious  brute  ''The 
Disowned,"  before  starting  for  ''the  French  Grand  National." 

He  is  a  regular  attendant  at  the  Corner,  where  he  compiles 
a  limited  but  comfortable  libretto.  During  the  season  he  rides 
often  in  the  park,  mounted  on  a  clever,  well-bred  pony.  He  is 
to  be  seen  escorting  that  celebrated  horsewoman,  Fann}^  High- 
flj^er,  or  in  confidential  converse  with  Lord  Thimblerig,  the 
eminent  handicapper. 

He  carefully  avoids  decent  society,  and  would  rather  dine 
off  a  steak  at  the  "  One  Tun"  with  Sam  Snaffle  the  jockey, 
Captain  O'Rourke,  and  two  or  three  other  notorious  turf  rob- 
bers, than  with  the  choicest  company  in  London.  He  likes  to 
announce  at  "  Rummer's"  that  he  is  going  to  run  down  and 
spend  his  Saturday  and  Sunday  in  a  friendl}'  way  with  Hocus, 
the  leg,  at  his  little  box  near  Epsom  :  where,  if  report  speak 
true,  man}^  "  rummish  plants"  are  concocted. 

He  does  not  play  billiards  often,  and  never  in  public  :  but 
when  he  does  pla}^,  he  always  contrives  to  get  hold  of  a  good 
flat,  and  never  leaves  him  till  he  has  done  him  uncommonly 
brown.    He  has  lately  been  pla3ing  a  good  deal  with  Famish. 


310 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


When  he  makes  his  appearance  in  the  drawing-room,  which 
occasionally  happens  at  a  hunt-meeting  or  a  race-ball,  he  enjoys 
himself  extremely. 

His  young  friend  is  Ensign  Famish,  who  is  not  a  little 
pleased  to  be  seen  with  such  a  smart  fellow  as  Rag,  who  bows 
to  the  best  turf  company  in  the  Park.  Rag  lets  Famish  accom- 
pany him  to  Tattersall's,  and  sells  him  bargains  in  horseflesh, 
and  uses  Famisli's  cab.  That  young  gentleman's  regiment  is 
in  India,  and  he  is  at  home  on  sick  leave.  He  recruits  his 
health  b}'  being  intoxicated  every  night,  and  fortifies  his  lungs, 
which  are  weak,  by  smoking  cigars  all  day.  The  policemen 
about  the  Hay  market  know  the  little  creature,  and  the  early 
cabmen  salute  him.  The  closed  doors  of  fish  and  lobster  shops 
open  after  service,  and  vomit  out  little  Famish,  who  is  either 
tipsy  and  quarrelsome  —  when  he  wants  to  fight  the  cabmen ; 
or  drunk  and  helpless — when  some  kind  friend  (in  yellow 
satin)  takes  care  of  him.  All  the  neighborhood,  the  cabmen, 
the  police,  the  early  potato-men,  and  the  friends  in  3^ellow  satin, 
know  the  young  fellow,  and  he  is  called  Little  Bobby  b}'  some 
of  the  very  worst  reprobates  in  Europe. 

His  mother,  Lad}^  Fanny  Famish,  believes  devotedly  that 
Robert  is  in  London  solely  for  the  benefit  of  consulting  the 
physician ;  is  going  to  have  him  exchanged  into  a  dragoon 
regiment,  which  doesn't  go  to  that  odious  India ;  and  has  an 
idea  that  his  chest  is  delicate,  and  that  he  takes  gruel  every 
evening,  when  he  puts  his  feet  in  hot  water.  Her  Ladj^ship 
resides  at  Cheltenham,  and  is  of  a  serious  turn. 

Bobby  frequents  the  ''Union-Jack  Club"  of  course;  where 
he  breakfasts  on  pale  ale  and  devilled  kidneys  at  three  o'clock ; 
where  beardless  .young  heroes  of  his  own  sort  congregate,  and 
make  merr}^  and  give  each  other  dinners  ;  where  you  ma}^  see 
half  a  dozen  of  3'oung  rakes  of  the  fourth  or  fifth  order  lounging 
and  smoking  on  the  steps  ;  where  3^ou  behold  Slapper's  long-tailed 
leggy  mare  in  the  custod}^  of  a  red-jacket  until  the  Captain  is 
primed  for  the  Park  with  a  glass  of  cura^oa  ;  and  where  3'ou 
see  Hobby,  of  the  Highland  Buffs,  driving  up  with  Dobby,  of 
the  Madras  Fusiliers,  in  the  great  banging,  swinging  cab,  which 
the  latter  hires  from  Rumble  of  J^ond  Street. 

In  fact,  Military  Snobs  are  of  such  number  and  variety, 
that  a  hundred  weeks  of  Punch  would  not  suffice  to  give  an 
audience  to  them.  There  is,  besides  the  disreputable  old  Mili- 
tar3^  Snob,  who  has  seen  service,  the  respectable  old  Military 
Snob,  who  has  seen  none,  and  gives  himself  the  most  prodi- 
gious Martinet  airs.    There  is  the  Medical-Militar3^  Snob,  who 


THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 


311 


is  generally  more  outrageously  militar}^  in  his  conversation  than 
the  greatest  sabreur  in  the  army.  There  is  the  Heavy-Dragoon 
Snob,  whom  young  ladies  admire,  with  his  great  stujjid  pink 
face  and  yellow  moustaches  —  a  vacuous,  solemn,  foolish,  but 
brave  and  honorable  Snob.  There  is  the  Amateur-Military 
Snob,  who  writes  Captain  on  his  card,  because  he  is  a  Lieuten- 
ant in  the  Bungay  Mihtia.  There  is  the  Lady-kilUng  Military 
Snob  ;  and  more,  who  need  not  be  named. 

But  let  no  man,  we  repeat,  charge  Mr,  Punch  wdth  disre- 
spect for  the  Army  in  general  —  that  gallant  and  judicious 
Army,  every  man  of  which,  from  F.M.  the  Duke  of  WeUing- 
ton,  &c.,  downwards —  (with  the  exception  of  H.R.H.  Field- 
Marshal  Prince  Albert,  who,  however,  can  hardly  count  as  a 
military  man), — reads  Punch  in  ever}^  quarter  of  the  globe. 

Let  those  civilians  who  sneer  at  the  acquirements  of  the 
Arm}^  read  Sir  Harry  Smith's  account  of  the  Battle  of  Aliwal. 
A  noble  deed  was  never  told  in  nobler  language.  And  you 
who  doubt  if  chivalry  exists,  or  the  age  of  heroism  has  passed 
b}^  think  of  Sir  Henry  Hardinge,  with  his  son,  '^dear  little 
Arthur,"  riding  in  front  of  the  lines  at  Ferozeshah.  I  hope  no 
Enghsh  painter  will  endeavor  to  illustrate  that  scene  ;  for  who 
is  there  to  do  justice  to  it?  The  history  of  the  world  contains 
no  more  brilliant  and  heroic  picture.  No,  no  ;  the  men  who 
perform  these  deeds  with  such  brilliant  valor,  and  describe 
them  with  such  modest  manliness  — such  are  not  Snobs.  Their 
country  admires  them,  their  Sovereign  rewards  them,  and 
Punch,  the  universal  railer,  takes  off  his  hat  and  saj's,  Heaven 
save  them ! 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ON  CLERICAL  SNOBS. 

After  Snobs-Militar}^,  Snobs-Clerical  suggest  themselves 
quite  naturally,  and  it  is  clear  that,  with  every  respect  for  the 
cloth,  yet  having  a  regard  for  truth,  humanity,  and  the  British 
public,  such  a  vast  and  influential  class  must  not  be  omitted 
from  our  notices  of  the  great  Snob  world. 

Of  these  Clerics  there  are  some  whose  claim  to  snobbishness 
is  undoubted,  and  3'et  it  cannot  be  discussed  here  ;  for  the  same 
reason  that  Punch  would  not  set  up  his  show^  in  a  Cathedral,  out 


312 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


of  respect  for  the  solemn  service  celebrated  within.  There  are 
some  places  where  he  acknowledges  himself  not  privileged  to 
make  a  noise,  and  puts  away  his  show,  and  silences  his  drum, 
and  takes  off  his  hat,  and  holds  his  peace. 

And  I  know  this,  that  if  there  are  some  Clerics  who  do 
wrong,  there  are  straight wa}^  a  thousand  newspapers  to  haul  up 
those  unfortunates,  and  cry,  Fie  upon  them,  fie  upon  them  !  " 
while,  though  the  press  is  alwa3\s  read}'  to  yell  and  bellow  ex- 
communication against  these  stray  delinquent  parsons,  it  some- 
how takes  very  little  count  of  the  many  good  ones  —  of  the 
tens  of  thousands  of  honest  men,  who  lead  Christian  lives,  who 
give  to  the  poor  generousl}',  who  deny  themselves  rigidlj',  and 
live  and  die  in  their  duty  without  ever  a  newspaper  paragraph 
in  their  favor.  My  beloved  friend  and  reader,  I  wish  3'ou  and  I 
could  do  the  same  :  and  let  me  whisper  my  belief,  entre  nous^ 
that  of  those  eminent  philosophers  who  crj'  out  against  parsons 
the  loudest,  there  are  not  many  who  have  got  their  knowledge 
of  the  church  by  going  thither  often. 

But  you  who  have  ever  listened  to  village  bells,  or  have 
walked  to  church  as  children  on  sunny  Sabbath  mornings ;  you 
who  have  ever  seen  the  parson's  wife  tending  the  poor  man's 
bedside  ;  or  the  town  clergyman  threading  the  dirty  stairs  of 
noxious  alleys  upon  his  sacred  business  ;  —  do  not  raise  a  shout 
when  one  of  these  falls  away,  or  yell  with  the  mob  that  howls 
after  him. 

Every  man  can  do  that.  When  old  Father  Noah  was  over- 
taken in  his  cups,  there  was  only  one  of  his  sons  that  dared  to 
make  merry  at  his  disaster,  and  he  was  not  the  most  virtuous 
of  the  family.  Let  us  too  turn  awaj^  silently,  nor  huzza  like  a 
parcel  of  schoolboys,  because  some  big  young  rebel  suddenly 
starts  up  and  whops  the  schoolmaster. 

I  confess,  though,  if  I  had  by  me  the  names  of  those  seven 
or  eight  Irish  bishops,  the  probates  of  whose  wills  were  men- 
tioned in  last  year's  journals,  and  who  died  leaving  behind  them 
some  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  a[)iece  —  I  would  like  to 
put  them  up  as  patrons  of  my  Clerical  Snobs,  and  operate  upon 
them  as  successfully  as  I  see  from  the  newspapers  Mr.  Eisen- 
berg.  Chiropodist,  has  lately  done  upon  "  His  Grace  the  Right 
Reverend  Lord  Bishop  of  Tapioca." 

And  I  confess  that  when  those  Right  Reverend  Prelates 
come  up  to  the  gates  of  Paradise  with  their  probates  of  wills  in 
their  hands,  I  think  that  their  chance  is  ...  .  But  the  gates 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


313 


of  Paradise  is  a  far  way  to  follow  their  Lordships  ;  so  let  us  trip 
down  again,  lest  awkward  questions  be  asked  there  about  our 
own  favorite  vices  too. 

And  don't  let  us  give  way  to  the  vulgar  prejudice,  that  cler- 
gymen are  an  overpaid  and  luxurious  body  of  men.  When 
that  eminent  ascetic,  the  late  Sydney  Smith —  (by  the  wa}',  by 
what  law  of  nature  is  it  that  so  many  Smiths  in  this  world  are 
called  Sj'dne}^  Smith?)  —  lauded  the  s^^stem  of  great  prizes  in 
the  Church,  —  without  which  he  said  gentlemen  would  not  be 
induced  to  follow  the  clerical  profession,  he  admitted  most  pa- 
thetically that  the  clerg}^  in  general  were  by  no  means  to  be 
envied  for  their  worldly  prosperit3\  From  reading  the  works 
of  some  modern  writers  of  repute,  you  would  fancy  that  a  par- 
son's life  was  passed  in  gorging  himself  with  plum-pudding  and 
port-wine ;  and  that  his  Reverence's  fat  chaps  were  always 
greasy  with  the  crackling  of  tithe  pigs.  Caricaturists  delight 
to  represent  him  so:  round,  short- necked,  pimple-faced,  apo- 
plectic, bursting  out  of  waistcoat  like  a  black-pudding,  a  shovel- 
hatted  fuzz-wigged  Silenus.  Whereas,  if  you  take  the  real 
man,  the  poor  fellow's  flesh-pots  are  very  scantily  furnished  with 
meat.  He  labors  commonly  for  a  wage  that  a  tailor's  foreman 
would  despise  :  he  has,  too,  such  claims  upon  his  dismal  income 
as  most  philosophers  would  rather  grumble  to  meet ;  man}^  tithes 
are  levied  upon  his  pocket,  let  it  be  remembered,  by  those  who 
grudge  him  his  means  of  livelihood.  He  has  to  dine  with  the 
Squire:  and  his  wife  must  dress  neatly;  and  he  must  ''look 
like  a  gentleman,"  as  the}^  call  it,  and  bring  up  his  six  great 
hungr}^  sons  as  such.  Add  to  this,  if  he  does  his  dut}',  he  has 
such  temptations  to  spend  his  money  as  no  mortal  man  could 
withstand.  Yes  ;  you  who  can't  resist  purchasing  a  chest  of 
cigars  because  they  are  so  good  ;  or  an  ormolu  clock  at  Howell 
and  James's,  because  it  is  such  a  bargain  ;  or  a  box  at  the 
Opera,  because  Lablache  and  Grisi  are  divine  in  the  Paritani  ; 
fancy  how  difficult  it  is  for  a  parson  to  resist  spending  a  half- 
crown  when  John  Breakstone's  family  are  without  a  loaf ;  or 
"standing"  a  bottle  of  port  for  dear  old  Polly  Rabbits,  who 
has  her  thirteenth  child  ;  or  treating  himself  to  a  suit  of  cordu- 
roys for  little  Bob  Scarecrow,  whose  breeches  are  sadly  out  at 
elbows.  Think  of  these  temptations,  brother  moralists  and  phi- 
losophers, and  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  parson. 

But  what  is  this?  Instead  of  "  showing  up "  the  parsons, 
are  we  indulging  in  maudlin  praises  of  that  monstrous  black- 


314 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


coated  race?  O  saintly  Francis,  lying  at  rest  under  the  turf; 
O  Jimmy,  and  Johnny,  and  Will}',  friends  of  my  youth !  O 
noble  and  dear  old  Elias  !  how  should  he  who  knows  you  not 
respect  3*ou  and  your  calling?  May  this  pen  never  write  a 
pennyworth  again,  if  it  ever  casts  ridicule  upon  either ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ON  CLERICAL  SNOBS  AND  SNOBBISHNESS. 

"Dear  Mr.  Snob,"  an  amiable  young  correspondent 
writes,  who  signs  himself  Snobling,  ''ought  the  clergyman 
who,  at  the  request  of  a  noble  Duke,  lately  interrupted  a  mar- 
riage ceremony  between  two  persons  perfect!}^  authorized  to 
marry,  to  be  ranked  or  not  among  the  Clerical  Snobs?" 

This,  m}'  dear  young  friend,  is  not  a  fair  question.  One  of 
the  ihustrated  weeklj^  papers  has  already  seized  hold  of  the 
clergyman,  and  blackened  him  most  unmercifull}',  by  represent- 
ing him  in  his  cassock  performing  the  marriage  service.  Let 
that  be  sufficient  punishment ;  and,  if  3^ou  please,  do  not  press 
the  quer3\ 

It  is  very  likely  that  if  Miss  Smith  had  come  with  a  license 
to  marr}'  Jones,  the  parson  in  question,  not  seeing  old  Smith 
present,  would  have  sent  off  the  beadle  in  a  cab  to  let  the  old 
gentleman  know  what  was  going  on ;  and  would  have  dela^^ed 
the  service  until  the  arrival  of  Smith  senior.  He  very  likely 
thinks  it  his  duty  to  ask  all  marriageable  young  ladies,  who 
come  without  their  papa,  wh}^  their  parent  is  absent ;  and,  no 
doubt,  always  sends  off  the  beadle  for  that  missing  governor. 

Or,  it  is  very  possible  that  the  Duke  of  Coeurdelion  was  Mr. 
What-d'ye-call-'im's  most  intimate  friend,  and  has  often  said  to 
him,  "  What-d'ye-call-'im,  my  boy,  my  daughter  must  never 
marry  the  Capting.  If  ever  they  try  at  your  church,  I  beseech 
you,  considering  the  terms  of  intimacy  on  which  we  are,  to 
send  off  Rattan  in  a  hack-cab  to  fetch  me." 

In  either  of  which  cases,  you  S(^e,  dear  Snobling,  that  though 
the  parson  would  not  have  been  autiiorized,  yet  he  might  have 
been  excused  for  interfering.  He  has  no  more  right  to  stop 
niy  marriage  than  to  stop  my  dinner,  to  both  of  which,  as  a 
free-born  Briton,  I  am  entitled  by  law,  if  I  can  pay  for  them. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


315 


But,  consider  pastoral  solicitude,  a  deep  sense  of  the  duties  of 
his  office,  and  pardon  this  inconvenient,  but  genuine  zeal. 

But  if  the  clergyman  did  in  the  Duke's  case  what  he  would 
not  do  in  Smith's  ;  if  he  has  no  more  acquaintance  with  the 
Coeurdelion  family  than  I  have  with  the  Royal  and  Serene 
House  of  Saxe-Coburg  Gotha,  — then^  I  confess,  my  dear  Snob- 
ling,  your  question  might  eUcit  a  disagreeable  reply,  and  one 
which  I  respectfully  decline  to  give.  I  wonder  what  Sir  George 
Tufto  would  say,  if  a  sentry  left  his  post  because  a  noble  lord 
(not  in  the  least  connected  with  the  service)  begged  the  senti- 
nel not  to  do  his  duty  ! 

Alas  !  that  the  beadle  who  canes  httle  boys  and  drives  them 
out,  cannot  drive  worldUness  out  too  ;  and  what  is  worldUness 
but  snobbishness?  When,  for  instance,  I  read  in  the  news- 
papers that  the  Right  Reverend  the  Lord  Charles  James  admin- 
istered the  rite  of  confirmation  to  a  party  of  the  juvenile  nobility 
at  the  Chapel  Royal,  — as  if  the  Chapel  Royal  were  a  sort  of 
ecclesiastical  Almack's,  and  3'oung  people  were  to  get  ready 
for  the  next  world  in  little  exclusive  genteel  knots  of  the 
aristocracy,  who  were  not  to  be  disturbed  in  their  journey 
thither  by  the  company  of  the  vulgar :  —  when  I  read  such  a 
paragraph  as  that  (and  one  or  two  such  generall}'  appear  dur- 
ing the  present  fashionable  season) ,  it  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
most  odious,  mean,  and  disgusting  part  of  that  odious,  mean, 
and  disgusting  publication,  the  Court  Circular ;  and  that  snob- 
bishness is  therein  carried  to  quite  an  awful  pitch.  What, 
gentlemen,  can't  we  even  in  the  Church  acknowledge  a  repub- 
lic? There,  at  least,  the  Heralds'  College  itself  might  allow 
that  we  all  of  us  have  the  same  pedigree,  and  are  direct  de- 
scendants of  Eve  and  Adam,  whose  inheritance  is  divided 
amongst  us. 

I  hereby  call  upon  all  Dukes,  Earls,  Baronets,  and  other 
potentates,  not  to  lend  themselves  to  this  shameful  scandal  and 
error,  and  beseech  all  Bishops  who  read  this  publication  to  take 
the  matter  into  consideration,  and  to  protest  against  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  practice,  and  to  declare,  We  luon't  confirm  or 
christen  Lord  Tomnoddy,  or  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  any  other  young  Christian  ;  "  the  which  declaration  if 
their  Lordships  are  induced  to  make,  a  great  lapis  offensionis 
will  be  removed,  and  the  Snob  Papers  will  not  have  been  writ- 
ten in  vain. 

A  story  is  current  of  a  celebrated  nouveau-riche^  who  having 
had  occasion  to  obhge  that  excellent  prelate  the  Bishop  of  Bul- 
locksmithy,  asked  his  Lordship,  in  return,  to  confirm  his  chil- 


316 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


dren  privately  in  his  Lordship's  own  chapel ;  which  ceremony 
the  grateful  prelate  accordingly  performed.  Can  satire  go 
farther  than  this?  Is  there  even  in  this  most  amusing  of 
prints,  an}'  more  naive  absurdit}^?  It  is  as  if  a  man  wouldn't 
go  to  heaven  unless  he  went  in  a  special  train,  or  as  if  he 
thought  (as  some  people  think  about  vaccination)  Confirmation 
more  effectual  when  administered  at  first  hand.  When  that 
eminent  person,  the  Begum  Sumroo,  died,  it  is  said  she  left 
ten  thousand  pounds  to  the  Pope,  and  ten  thousand  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  —  so  that  there  should  be  no  mis- 
take,—  so  as  to  make  sure  of  having  the  ecclesiastical  au- 
thorities on  her  side.  This  is  onl}'  a  little  more  openl}-  and 
undisguisedly  snobbish  than  the  cases  before  alluded  to.  A 
well-bred  Snob  is  just  as  secretly  proud  of  his  riches  and  honors 
as  2i  parvenu  Snob  who  makes  the  most  ludicrous  exhibition  of 
them  ;  and  a  high-born  Marchioness  or  Duchess  just  as  vain 
of  herself  and  her  diamonds,  as  Queen  Quaslu^boo,  who  sews 
a  pair  of  epaulets  on  to  her  skirt,  and  turns  out  in  state  in  a 
cocked  hat  and  feathers. 

It  is  not  out  of  disrespect  to  my  ''Peerage,"  which  I  love 
and  honor,  (indeed,  have  I  not  said  before,  that  I  should  be 
ready  to  jump  out  of  my  skin  if  two  Dukes  would  walk  down 
Pall  Mall  with  me  ?)  —  it  is  not  out  of  disrespect  for  the  indi- 
viduals, that  I  wish  these  titles  had  never  been  invented  ;  but, 
consider,  if  there  were  no  tree,  there  would  be  no  shadow ;  and 
how  much  more  honest  societ}^  would  be,  and  how  much  more 
serviceable  the  clerg}'  would  be  (which  is  our  present  considera- 
tion) ,  if  these  temptations  of  rank  and  continual  baits  of  world- 
Hness  were  not  in  existence,  and  perpetually  thrown  out  to 
lead  them  astra3\ 

I  have  seen  man}^  examples  of  their  falling  away.  When, 
for  instance,  Tom  Sniffle  first  went  into  the  countr}'  as  Curate 
for  Mr.  Fuddleston  (Sir  Iluddleston  Fuddleston's  brother), 
who  resided  on  some  other  living,  there  could  not  be  a  more 
kind,  hard-working,  and  excellent  creature  than  Tom.  He  had 
his  aunt  to  live  with  him.  His  conduct  to  his  poor  was  admi- 
rable. He  wrote  annually  reams  of  the  best-intentioned  and 
most  vapid  sermons.  When  Lord.  Brandyball's  family  first 
came  down  into  the  country,  and  invited  him  to  dine  at  Brand}'- 
ball  Park,  Sniffle  was  so  agitated  that  he  almost  forgot  how 
to  say  grace,  and  upset  a  bowl  of  currant-jelly  sauce  in  Lady 
Fanny  Toffy's  lap. 

What  was  the  consequence  of  his  intimacy  with  that  noble 
family?    He  quarrelled  with  his  aunt  for  dining  out  every 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


317 


night.  The  wretch  forgot  his  poor  altogether,  and  killed  his 
old  nag  by  always  riding  over  to  Brandyball ;  where  he  revelled 
in  the  maddest  passion  for  Lady  Fanny.  He  ordered  the  neat- 
est new  clothes  and  ecclesiastical  waistcoats  from  London  ;  he 
appeared  with  corazza-shirts,  lacquered  boots  and  perfumer}^ ; 
he  bought  a  blood-horse  from  Bob  Toffy  :  was  seen  at  archery 
meetings,  public  breakfasts,  —  actuall}'  at  cover ;  and,  I  blush 
to  say,  that  I  saw  him  in  a  stall  at  the  Opera ;  and  afterwards 
riding  by  Lad}^  Fanny's  side  in  Rotten  Row.  He  double  bar- 
relled his  name,  (as  man}'  poor  Snobs  do,)  and  instead  of 
T.  Sniffle,  as  formerly,  came  out,  in  a  porcelain  card,  as  Rev. 
T.  D'Arcy  Sniffle,  Burlington  Hotel. 

The  end  of  all  this  may  be  imagined :  when  the  Earl  of 
Brand3'ball  was  made  acquainted  with  the  curate's  love  for 
Lady  Fann}',  he  had  that  fit  of  the  gout  which  so  nearly  carried 
him  off  (to  the  inexpressible  grief  of  his  son.  Lord  Alicom- 
pa3'ne),  and  uttered  that  remarkable  speech  to  Sniffle,  which 
disposed  of  the  claims  of  the  latter  :  —  ''If  I  didn't  respect  the 
Church,  Sir,"  his  Lordship  said,  ''  by  Jove,  I'd  kick  you  down 
stairs  :  "  his  Lordship  then  fell  back  into  the  fit  aforesaid  ;  and 
Lady  Fann}^,  as  we  all  know,  married  General  Podager. 

As  for  poor  Tom,  he  was  over  head  and  ears  in  debt  as  well 
as  in  love  :  his  creditors  came  down  upon  him.  Mr.  Hemp,  of 
Portugal  Street,  proclaimed  his  name  lately  as  a  reverend  out- 
law ;  and  he  has  been  seen  at  various  foreign  watering-places ; 
sometimes  doing  dut}^ ;  sometimes  ' '  coaching  "  a  strsLj  gentle- 
man's son  at  Carlsruhe  or  Kissingen  ;  sometimes  —  must  we 
sa}^  it?  —  lurking  about  the  roulette- tables  with  a  tuft  to  his 
chin. 

If  temptation  had  not  come  upon  this  unhappy  fellow  in  the 
shape  of  a  Lord  Brandyball,  he  might  still  have  been  following 
his  profession,  humbly  and  worthily.  He  might  have  married 
his  cousin  with  four  thousand  pounds,  the  wine-merchant's 
daughter  (the  old  gentleman  quarrelled  with  his  nephew  for 
not  soliciting  wine-orders  from  Lord  B.  for  him)  :  he  might 
have  had  seven  children,  and  taken  private  pupils,  and  eked 
out  his  income,  and  lived  and  died  a  countr}'  parson. 

Could  he  have  done  better?  You  who  want  to  know  how 
great,  and  good,  and  noble  such  a  character  may  be,  read 
Stanley's  "  Life  of  Doctor  Arnold." 


318 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

ON   CLERICAL  SNOBS. 

Among  the  varieties  of  the  Snob  Clerical,  the  University 
Snob  and  the  Scholastic  Snob  ought  never  to  be  forgotten ; 
the}^  form  a  very  strong  battalion  in  the  black-coated  army. 

The  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  (which  I  admire  more  and 
more  ever}^  da}^)  seemed  to  have  determined  that  the  education 
of  3^outh  was  so  paltr}^  and  unimportant  a  matter,  that  almost 
am'  man,  armed  with  a  birch  and  a  regulation  cassock  and 
degree,  might  undertake  the  charge :  and  man}^  an  honest 
countr}'  gentleman  may  be  found  to  the  present  day,  who  takes 
very  good  care  to  have  a  character  with  his  butler  when  he 
engages  him,  and  will  not  purchase  a  horse  without  the  strong- 
est warranty  and  the  closest  inspection  ;  but  sends  off  his  son, 
young  John  Thomas,  to  school  without  asking  any  questions 
about  the  Schoolmaster,  and  places  the  lad  at  Switchester 
College,  under  Doctor  Block,  because  he  (the  good  old  English 
gentleman)  had  been  at  Switchester,  under  Doctor  Buzwig, 
forty  years  ago. 

We  have  a  love  for  all  little  hoys  at  school ;  for  many  scores 
of  thousands  of  them  read  and  love  Punch :  —  may  he  never 
write  a  word  that  shall  not  be  honest  and  fit  for  them  to  read ! 
He  will  not  have  his  young  friends  to  be  Snobs  in  the  future, 
or  to  be  bullied  b}^  snobs,  or  given  over  to  such  to  be  educated. 
Our  connection  with  the  youth  at  the  Universities  is  very  close 
and  affectionate.  The  candid  undergraduate  is  our  friend. 
The  pompous  old  College  Don  trembles  in  his  common  room, 
lest  we  should  attack  him  and  show  him  up  as  a  Snob. 

When  railroads  were  threatening  to  invade  the  land  which 
the}'  have  since  conquered,  it  ma}^  be  recollected  what  a  shriek- 
ing and  outcry  the  authorities  of  Oxford  and  Eton  made,  lest 
the  iron  abominations  should  come  near  those  seats  of  pure 
learning,  and  tempt  the  British  youth  astray.  The  supplica- 
tions were  in  vain  ;  the  railroad  is  in  upon  them,  and  the  old 
world  institutions  are  doomed.  I  felt  charmed  to  read  in  the 
papers  the  other  day  a  most  veracious  puffing  advertisement 
headed,  "To  College  and  back  for  Five  Sliillings."  ''The 
College  Gardens  (it  said)  will  be  thrown  open  on  this  occasion ; 
the  College  youths  will  perform  a  regatta  ;  the  Chapel  of  King's 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


319 


College  will  have  its  celebrated  music ;  "  —  and  all  for  five 
shillings  !  The  Goths  have  got  into  Rome  ;  Napoleon  Stephen- 
son draws  his  republican  lines  round  the  sacred  old  cities  ;  and 
the  ecclesiastical  big-wigs  who  garrison  them  must  prepare  to 
lay  down  key  and  crosier  before  the  iron  conqueror. 

If  you  consider,  dear  reader,  what  profound  snobbishness 
the  Universit}^  System  produced,  you  will  allow  that  it  is  time 
to  attack  some  of  those  feudal  middle- age  superstitions.  If  you 
go  down  for  five  shilUngs  to  look  at  the  College  Youths,"  you 
may  see  one  sneaking  down  the  court  without  a  tassel  to  his 
cap  ;  another  with  a  gold  or  silver  fringe  to  his  velvet  trencher  ; 
a  third  lad  with  a  master's  gown  and  hat,  walking  at  ease  over 
the  sacred  College  grass-plats,  which  common  men  must  not 
tread  on. 

He  may  do  it  because  he  is  a  nobleman.  Because  a  lad  is  a 
lord,  the  Universit}^  gives  him  a  degree  at  the  end  of  two  years 
which  another  is  seven  in  acquiring.  Because  he  is  a  lord,  he 
has  no  call  to  go  through  an  examination.  Any  man  w^ho  has 
not  been  to  College  and  back  for  five  shillings,  would  not  be- 
lieve in  such  distinctions  in  a  place  of  education,  so  absurd  and 
monstrous  do  they  seem  to  be. 

The  lads  with  gold  and  silver  lace  are  sons  of  rich  gentle- 
men, and  called  Fellow  Commoners  ;  they  are  privileged  to 
feed  better  than  the  pensioners,  and  to  have  wine  with  their 
victuals,  which  the  latter  can  only  get  in  their  rooms. 

The  unlucky  boys  who  have  no  tassels  to  their  caps,  are 
called  sizars  —  servitors  at  Oxford —  (a  very  prett}'  and  gentle- 
man like  title).  A  distinction  is  made  in  their  clothes  because 
they  are  poor ;  for  which  reason  they  wear  a  badge  of  poverty, 
and  are  not  allowed  to  take  their  meals  with  their  fellow- 
students. 

When  this  wicked  and  shameful  distinction  was  set  up,  it 
was  of  a  piece  with  all  the  rest  —  a  part  of  the  brutal,  unchris- 
tian, blundering  feudal  system.  Distinctions  of  rank  were  then 
so  strongly  insisted  upon,  that  it  would  have  been  thought 
blasphemy  to  doubt  them,  as  blasphemous  as  it  is  in  parts  of 
the  United  States  now  for  a  nigger  to  set  up  as  the  equal  of  a 
white  man.  A  rufl^an  like  Henry  VIH.  talked  as  gravely 
about  the  divine  powers  vested  in  him,  as  if  he  had  been  an 
inspired  prophet.  A  wretch  like  James  I.  not  only  believed 
that  there  was  in  himself  a  particular  sanctit}',  but  other  people 
believed  him.  Government  regulated  the  length  of  a  merchant's 
shoes  as  well  as  meddled  with  his  trade,  prices,  exports, 
machinery.    It  thought  itself  justified  in  roasting  a  man  for  his 


320 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


religion,  or  pulling  a  Jew's  teeth  out  if  he  did  not  pa}'  a  contri- 
bution, or  ordered  him  to  dress  in  a  j^ellow  gabardine,  and 
locked  him  in  a  particular  quarter. 

Now  a  merchant  ma}'  wear  what  boots  he  pleases,  and  has 
prett}'  nearl}'  acquired  the  privilege  of  buying  and  selUng  with- 
out the  Government  la3ing  its  paws  upon  the  bargain.  The 
stake  for  heretics  is  gone  ;  the  pillorj-  is  taken  down  ;  Bishops 
are  even  found  lifting  up  their  voices  against  the  remains  of 
persecution,  and  ready  to  do  away  with  the  last  Cathohc  Disa- 
bilities. Sir  Robert  Peel,  though  he  wished  it  ever  so  much, 
has  no  power  over  Mr.  Benjamin  Disraeh's  grinders,  or  any 
means  of  violently  handUng  that  gentleman's  jaw.  Jews  are 
not  called  upon  to  wear  badges  :  on  the  contrary,  they  may 
live  in  Piccadilly,  or  the  Minories,  according  to  fanc}^ ;  they 
may  dress  like  Christians,  and  do  sometimes  in  a  most  elegant 
and  fashionable  manner. 

Why  is  the  poor  College  servitor  to  wear  that  name  and  that 
badge  still?  Because  Universities  are  the  last  places  into  which 
Reform  penetrates.  But  now  that  she  can  go  to  College  and 
back  for  five  shillings,  let  her  travel  down  thither. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ON  UNIVERSITY  SNOBS. 

All  the  men  of  Saint  Boniface  will  recognize  Hugbj^  and 
Crump  in  these  two  pictures.*  They  were  tutors  in  our  time, 
and  Crump  is  since  advanced  to  be  President  of  the  College. 
He  was  formerly,  and  is  now,  a  rich  specimen  of  a  University 
Snob. 

At  five-and-twent}',  Crump  invented  three  new^  metres,  and 
published  an  edition  of  an  exccedingl}'  improper  Greek  Comedy, 
with  no  less  than  twenty  emendations  upon  the  German  text 
of  Schnupfenius  and  Schnapsiiis.  Tliese  services  to  religion 
instantly  i)ointed  him  out  for  advancement  in  the  Church,  and 
he  is  now  President  of  Saint  Boniface,  and  very  narrowly 
escaped  the  bench. 

Crump  thinks  Saint  Boniface  the  centre  of  the  world,  and 
his  position  as  President  the  highest  in  England.  He  expects 
the  fellows  and  tutors  to  pay  him  the  same  sort  of  service  that 

*  This  refers  to  an  illustrated  edition  of  the  work. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


321 


Cardinals  pay  to  the  Pope.  I  am  sure  Crawler  would  have  no 
objection  to  carry  his  trencher,  or  Page  to  hold  up  the  skirts 
of  his  gown  as  he  stalks  into  chapel.  He  roars  out  the  re- 
sponses there  as  if  it  were  an  honor  to  heaven  that  the  Presi- 
dent of  Saint  Boniface  should  take  a  part  in  the  service,  and 
in  his  own  lodge  and  college  acknowledges  the  Sovereign  only 
as  his  superior. 

When  the  allied  monarchs  came  down,  and  were  made 
Doctors  of  the  University,  a  breakfast  was  given  at  vSaint 
Boniface ;  on  which  occasion  Crump  allowed  the  P^mperor 
Alexander  to  walk  before  him,  but  took  the  pas  himself  of  the 
King  of  Prussia  and  Prince  Blucher.  He  was  going  to  put  the 
Hetman  Platoff  to  breakfast  at  a  side-table  with  the  under 
college  tutors  ;  but  he  was  induced  to  relent,  and  merel}'  enter- 
tained that  distinguished  Cossack  with  a  discourse  on  his  own 
language,  in  which  he  showed  that  the  Hetman  knew  nothing 
about  it. 

As  for  us  undergraduates,  we  scarcely  knew  more  about 
Crump  than  about  the  Grand  Llama.  A  few  favored  youths 
are  asked  occasionally  to  tea  at  the  lodge  ;  but  the}'  do  not 
speak  unless  first  addressed  by  the  Doctor  ;  and  if  they  venture 
to  sit  down.  Crump's  follower,  Mr.  Toady,  whispers  Gentle- 
men, will  you  have  the  kindness  to  get  up  ?  —  The  President 
is  passing;"  or  Gentlemen,  the  President  prefers  that  un- 
dergraduates should  not  sit  down ;  "  or  words  to  a  similar 
effect. 

To  do  Crump  justice,  he  does  not  cringe  now  to  great 
people.  He  rather  patronizes  them  than  otherwise  ;  and,  in 
London,  speaks  quite  affablv  to  a  Duke  who  has  been  brought 
up  at  his  college,  or  holds  out  a  finger  to  a  Marquis.  He  does 
not  disguise  his  own  origin,  but  brags  of  it  with  considerable 
self-gratulation  :  —  -'I  was  a  Charity-boy,"  says  he;  "see 
what  I  am  now ;  the  greatest  Greek  scholar  o^  the  greatest 
College  of  the  greatest  University  of  the  greatest  Empire  in 
the  world."  The  argument  being,  that  this  is  a  capital  world 
for  beggars,  because  he,  being  a  beggar,  has  managed  to  get 
on  horseback. 

Hugby  owes  his  eminence  to  patient  merit  and  agreeable 
perseverance.  He  is  a  meek,  mild,  inoffensive  creature,  with 
just  enough  of  scholarship  to  fit  him  to  hold  a  lecture,  or  set 
an  examination  paper.  He  rose  by  kindness  to  the  aristocracy. 
It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  way  in  which  that  poor  ereatm-e 
grovelled  before  a  nobleman  or  a  lord's  nephew,  or  even  some 
noisy  and  disreputable  commoner,  the  friend  of  a  lord.  He 

21 


322 


THE  BOOK  OF  SISTOBS. 


used  to  give  the  young  noblemen  the  most  painful  and  elaborate 
breakfasts,  and  adopt  a  jaunty  genteel  air,  and  talk  with  them 
(although  he  was  decddedly  serious)  about  the  opera,  or  the 
last  run  with  the  hounds.  It  was  good  to  watch  him  in  the 
midst  of  a  circle  of  3'oung  tufts,  with  his  mean,  smiling,  eager, 
uneas}^  familiarit3\  He  used  to  write  home  confidential  letters 
to  their  parents,  and  made  it  his  duty  to  call  upon  them  when 
in  town,  to  condole  or  rejoice  with  them  when  a  death,  birth, 
or  marriage  took  place  in  their  famil}^ ;  and  to  feast  them 
whenever  they  came  to  the  University.  I  recollect  a  letter 
lying  on  a  desk  in  his  lecture-room  for  a  whole  term,  beginning, 
My  Lord  Duke."  It  was  to  show  us  that  he  corresponded 
with  such  dignities. 

When  the  late  lamented  Lord  Glenlivat,  who  broke  his  neck 
at  a  hurdle-race,  at  the  premature  age  of  twenty- four,  was  at 
the  Universit3%  the  amiable  3  oung  fellow,  passing  to  his  rooms 
in  the  early  morning,  and  seeing  Hugby's  boots  at  his  door, 
on  the  same  staircase,  plaj^fully  wadded  the  insides  of  the  boots 
with  cobbler's  wax,  which  caused  excruciating  pains  to  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Hugby,  when  he  came  to  take  them  off  the  same 
evening,  before  dining  with  the  Master  of  St.  Crispin's. 

Everybod}^  gave  the  credit  of  this  admirable  piece  of  fun  to 
Lord  Glenlivat's  friend.  Bob  Tizz}^,  who  was  f^imous  for  such 
feats,  and  who  had  alread}^  made  away  with  the  college  pump- 
handle  ;  filed  St.  Boniface's  nose  smooth  with  his  face ;  carried 
off  four  images  of  nigger-boys  from  the  tobacconists  ;  painted 
the  senior  proctor's  horse  pea-green,  &c.  &c.  ;  and  Bob  (who 
was  of  the  party  certainly,  and  would  not  peach,)  was  just  on 
the  point  of  incurring  expulsion,  and  so  losing  the  family  living 
which  was  in  store  for  him,  when  Glenlivat  nobly  stepped 
forward,  owned  himself  to  be  the  author  of  the  delightful 
jeU'd' esprit^  apologized  to  the  tutor,  and  accepted  the  rusti- 
cation . 

Hugby  cried  when  Glenlivat  apologized  ;  if  the  3^oung  noble- 
man had  kicked  him  round  the  court,  I  believe  the  tutor  would 
have  been  happy,  so  that  an  apolog}'  and  a  reconciliation  might 
subsequentl}^  ensue.  My  lord,"  said  he,  "in  your  conduct 
on  this  and  all  other  occasions,  you  have  acted  as  becomes  a 
gentleman  ;  you  have  been  an  honor  to  the  University,  as  you 
will  be  to  the  i)eerage,  I  am  sure,  when  the  amiable  vivacit}' 
of  youth  is  calmed  down,  and  3'ou  are  called  upon  to  take  your 
proper  share  in  the  government  of  the  nation."  And  when 
his  lordshi[)  took  leave  of  the  University,  Hugby  presented  him 
with  a  copy  of  his     Sermons  to  a  Nobleman's  Family  "  (Hugby 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


323 


was  once  private  tutor  to  the  sons  of  the  Earl  of  Muff  borough), 
which  GlenHvat  presented  in  return  to  Mr.  William  Ramm. 
known  to  the  fanc}^  as  the  Tutbury  Pet,  and  the  sermons  now 
figure  on  the  boudoir-table  of  Mrs.  Ramm,  behind  the  bar  of 
her  house  of  entertainment,  "The  Game  Cock  and  Spurs," 
near  Woodstock,  Oxon. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  long  vacation,  Hugby  comes  to 
town,  and  puts  up  in  handsome  lodgings  near  St.  James's 
Square  ;  rides  in  the  Park  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  is  delighted 
to  read  his  name  in  the  morning  papers  among  the  list  of  per- 
sons present  at  Muffliorough  House,  and  the  Marquis  of  Farin- 
tosh's  evening-parties.  He  is  a  member  of  Sydney  Scraper's 
Club,  where,  however,  he  drinks  his  pint  of  claret. 

Sometimes  you  may  see  him  on  Sunda3's,  at  the  hour  when 
tavern  doors  open,  whence  issue  little  girls  with  great  jugs  of 
porter;  when  charity-boys  walk  the  streets,  bearing  brown 
dishes  of  smoking  shoulders  of  mutton  and  baked  'taturs  ;  when 
Sheeny  and  Moses  are  seen  smoking  their  pipes  before  their 
laz}^  shutters  in  Seven  Dials  ;  when  a  crowd  of  smihng  persons 
in  clean  outlandish  dresses,  in  monstrous  bonnets  and  flaring 
printed  gowns,  or  in  crumpled  glossy  coats  and  silks  that  bear 
the  creases  of  the  drawers  where  the}^  have  lain  all  the  week, 
file  down  High  Street,  —  sometimes,  1  sa}^  you  may  see  Hugby 
coming  out  of  the  Church  of  St.  Giles-in-the-Fields,  with  a 
stout  gentlewoman  leaning  on  his  arm,  whose  old  face  bears 
an  expression  of  supreme  pride  and  happiness  as  she  glances 
round  at  all  the  neighbors,  and  who  faces  the  curate  himself, 
and  marches  into  Holborn,  where  she  pulls  the  bell  of  a  house 
over  which  is  inscribed,  Hugby,  Haberdasher."  It  is  the 
mother  of  the  Rev.  F.  Hugby,  as  proud  of  her  son  in  his  white 
choker  as  Cornelia  of  her  jewels  at  Rome.  That  is  old  Hugby 
bringing  up  the  rear  with  the  Prayer-books,  and  Betsy  Hugby 
the  old  maid,  his  daughter,  —  old  Hugb}^,  Haberdasher  and 
Churchwarden. 

In  the  front  room  up  stairs,  where  the  dinner  is  laid  out, 
there  is  a  picture  of  Muffborough  Castle  ;  of  the  Earl  of  Muflf- 
borough,  K.X.,  Lord-Lieutenant  for  Diddlesex  ;  an  engraving, 
from  an  almanac,  of  Saint  Boniface  College,  Oxon  ;  and  a 
sticking-plaster  portrait  of  Hugbv  when  3'oung,  in  a  cap  and 
gown.  A  copy  of  his  '^Sermons  to  a  Nobleman's  Family" 
is  on  the  book-shelf,  by  the  ''Whole  Duty  of  Man,"  the  Re- 
ports of  the  Missionary  Societies,  and  the  "  Oxford  L^niversit}' 
Calendar."    Old  Hugby  knows  part  of  this  by  heart ;  every 


324 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


living  belonging  to  Saint  Boniface,  and  the  name  of  every 
tutor,  fellow,  nobleman,  and  undergraduate. 

He  used  to  go  to  meeting  and  preach  himself,  until  his  son 
took  orders  ;  but  of  late  the  old  gentleman  has  been  accused  of 
Puseyism,  and  is  quite  pitiless  against  the  Dissenters. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ON  UNIVERSITY  SNOBS. 

I  SHOULD  like  to  fill  several  volumes  with  accounts  of  various 
University  Snobs  ;  so  fond  are  my  reminiscences  of  them,  and 
so  numerous  are  they.  I  should  like  to  speak,  above  all,  of 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  some  of  the  Professor-Snobs  ;  their 
amusements,  habits,  jealousies  ;  their  innocent  artifices  to  en- 
trap 3^oung  men  ;  their  picnics,  concerts,  and  evening-parties. 
I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Emil}^  Blades,  daughter  of  Blades, 
the  Professor  of  the  Mandingo  language?  I  remember  her 
shoulders  to  this  da}^  as  she  sat  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of 
about  seventy  3'oung  gentlemen,  from  Corpus  and  Catherine 
Hall,  entertaining  them  with  ogles  and  French  songs  on  the 
guitar.  Are  you  married,  fair  Emily  of  the  shoulders?  What 
beautiful  ringlets  those  were  that  used  to  dribble  over  them  !  — 
what  a  waist !  —  what  a  killing  sea-green  shot- silk  gown  !  — 
what  a  cameo,  the  size  of  a  muffin  !  There  were  thirty-six 
young  men  of  the  University  in  love  at  one  time  with  Emily 
Blades  ;  and  no  words  are  sufficient  to  describe  the  pity,  the 
sorrow,  the  deep,  deep  commiseration  —  the  rage,  fury,  and 
uncharitableness,  in  other  words  —  with  which  the  Miss  Trumps 
(daughter  of  Trumps,  the  Professor  of  Phlebotomy)  regarded 
her,  because  she  didn't  squint,  and  because  she  wasn't  marked 
with  the  small-pox. 

As  for  the  young  University  Snobs,  I  am  getting  too  old, 
now,  to  speak  of  such  very  familiarly.  My  recollections  of 
tliem  lie  in  the  far,  far  past  —  almost  as  far  back  as  Pelham's 
time. 

We  then  used  to  consider  Snobs  raw-looking  lads,  who  never 
missed  chapel ;  who  wore  highlows  and  no  straps  ;  who  walked 
two  hours  on  the  Trumpington  road  ever}'  day  of  their  lives  ; 
who  carried  ofi'  the  college  scholarships,  and  who  overrated 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


325 


themselves  in  hall.  We  were  premature  in  pronouncing  our 
verdict  of  youthful  Snobbishness.  The  man  without  straps 
fulfilled  his  destiny  and  dut}- .  He  eased  his  old  governor,  the 
curate  in  Westmoreland,  or  helped  his  sisters  to  set  up  the 
Ladies'  School.  He  wrote  a  Dictionary,"  or  a  "  Treatise  on 
Conic  Sections,"  as  his  nature  and  genius  prompted.  He  got 
a  fellowship  :  and  then  took  to  himself  a  wife,  and  a  living. 
He  presides  over  a  parish  now,  and  thinks  it  rather  a  dashing 
thing  to  belong  to  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club  ;  "  and  his 
parishioners  love  him,  and  snore  under  his  sermons.  No,  no, 
he  is  not  a  Snob.  It  is  not  straps  that  make  the  gentleman,  or 
liighlows  that  unmake  him,  be  they  ever  so  thick.  My  son,  it 
is  you  who  are  the  Snob  if  3^ou  lightlj'  despise  a  man  for  doing 
his  duty,  and  refuse  to  shake  an  honest  man's  hand  because  it 
wears  a  Berlin  glove. 

We  then  used  to  consider  it  not  the  least  vulgar  for  a  parcel 
of  lads  who  had  been  whipped  three  months  previous,  and  were 
not  allowed  more  than  three  glasses  of  port  at  home,  to  sit 
down  to  pineapples  and  ices  at  each  other's  rooms,  and  fuddle 
themselves  with  champagne  and  claret. 

One  looks  back  to  what  was  called  "  a  wine-party"  with  a 
sort  of  wonder.  Thirt}'  lads  round  a  table  covered  with  bad 
sweetmeats,  drinking  bad  wines,  telling  bad  stories,  singing  bad 
songs  over  and  over  again.  Milk  punch  —  smoking  —  ghastly 
headache  —  frightful  spectacle  of  dessert-table  next  morning, 
and  smell  of  tobacco  —  3^our  guardian,  the  clergyman,  dropping 
in  in  the  midst  of  this  —  expecting  to  find  you  deep  in  Algebra, 
and  discovering  the  Gyp  administering  soda-water. 

There  were  young  men  who  despised  the  lads  who  indulged 
in  the  coarse  hospitalities  of  wine-parties,  who  prided  them- 
selves in  giving  recherche  little  French  dinners.  Both  wine- 
party-givers  and  dinner-givers  were  Snobs. 

There  were  what  used  to  be  called  ''dressy"  Snobs:  — 
Jimmy,  who  might  be  seen  at  five  o'clock  elaborately  rigged 
out,  with  a  camellia  in  his  button-hole,  glazed  boots,  and  fresh 
kid-gloves  twice  a  day  ;  —  Jessani}',  who  was  conspicuous  for 
his  ''jewellery"  —  a  young  donke}^  glittering  all  over  with 
chains,  rings,  and  shirt-studs; — Jacky,  who  rode  every  day 
solemnl}^  on  the  Blenheim  Road,  in  pumps  and  white  silk  stock- 
ings, with  his  hair  curled,  —  all  three  of  whom  flattered  them- 
selves they  gave  laws  to  the  University  about  dress  —  all  three 
most  odious  varieties  of  Snobs. 

Sporting  Snobs  of  course  there  were,  and  are  alwaj's  —  those 
happy  beings  in  whom  Nature  has  implanted  a  love  of  slang : 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


who  loitered  about  the  horsekeeper's  stables,  and  drove  the 
London  coaches  —  a  stage  in  and  out  —  and  might  be  seen 
swaggering  through  the  courts  in  pink  of  earh'  mornings,  and 
indulged  in  dice  and  blind-hooke}'  at  nights,  and  never  missed 
a  race  or  a  boxing-match  ;  and  rode  flat-races,  and  kept  bull- 
terriers.  Worse  Snobs  even  than  these  were  poor  miserable 
wretches  who  did  not  like  hunting  at  all,  and  could  not  aflbrd 
it,  and  were  in  mortal  fear  at  a  two-foot  ditch  ;  but  who  hunted 
because  Glenhvat  and  Cinqbars  hunted.  The  Billiard  Snob 
and  the  Boating  Snob  were  varieties  of  these,  and  are  to  be 
found  elsewhere  than  in  universities. 

Then  there  were  Philosophical  Snobs,  who  used  to  ape 
statesmen  at  the  spouting-clubs,  and  who  believed  as  a  fact  that 
Government  always  had  an  eye  on  the  University  for  the  selec- 
tion of  orators  for  the  House  of  Commons.  There  were  auda- 
cious 3'oung  freethinkers,  w-ho  adored  nobody  or  nothing,  ex- 
cept perhaps  Robespierre  and  the  Koran,  imd  panted  for  the  da}^ 
when  the  pale  name  of  priest  should  shrink  and  dwindle  aw^ay 
before  the  indignation  of  an  enlightened  world. 

But  the  worst  of  all  University  Snobs  are  those  unfortunates 
who  go  to  rack  and  ruin  from  their  desire  to  ape  their  betters. 
Smith  becomes  acquainted  with  great  people  at  college,  and  is 
ashamed  of  his  father  the  tradesman.  Jones  has  fine  acquaint- 
ances, and  lives  after  their  fashion  like  a  gay  free-hearted  fel- 
low as  he  is,  and  ruins  his  father,  and  robs  his  sister's  portion, 
and  cripples  his  younger  brother's  outset  in  life,  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  entertaining  my  lord,  and  riding  by  the  side  of  Sir  John. 
And  though  it  may  be  very  good  fun  for  Robinson  to  fuddle 
himself  at  home  as  he  does  at  College,  and  to  be  brought 
home  by  the  policeman  he  has  just  been  trying  to  knock 
down  —  think  what  fun  it  is  for  the  poor  old  soul  his  mother ! 
—  the  half-pay  captain's  widow,  who  has  been  pinching  herself 
all  her  life  long,  in  order  that  that  jolly  young  fellow  might 
have  a  University  education. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


327 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ON   LITERARY  SNOBS. 

What  will  he  say  about  Literar}^  Snobs  ?  has  been  a  ques- 
tion, I  make  no  doubt,  often  asked  by  the  public.  How  can 
he  let  off  his  own  profession  ?  Will  that  truculent  and  unspar- 
ing monster  who  attacks  the  nobihty,  the  clergy,  the  army,  and 
the  ladies,  indiscriminatel}',  hesitate  when  the  turn  comes  to 
egorger  his  own  flesh  and  blood  ? 

My  dear  and  excellent  querist,  whom  does  the  schoolmaster 
flog  so  resolutely  as  his  own  son  ?  Didn't  Brutus  chop  his  ofl*- 
spring's  head  off?  You  have  a  very  bad  opinion  indeed  of  the 
present  state  of  literature  and  of  literary  men,  if  you  fancy 
that  an}'  one  of  us  woukl  hesitate  to  stick  a  knife  into  his 
neighbor  penman,  if  the  latter's  death  could  do  the  State  any 
service. 

But  the  fact  is,  that  in  the  Hterary  profession  there  are 
NO  SNOBS.  Look  round  at  the  whole  bod}'  of  British  men  of 
letters,  and  I  defy  you  to  point  out  among  them  a  single  in- 
stance of  vulgarit}',  or  envy,  or  assumption. 

Men  and  women,  as  far  as  I  have  known  them,  they  are  all 
modest  in  their  demeanor,  elegant  in  their  manners,  spotless 
in  their  lives,  and  honorable  in  their  conduct  to  the  world 
and  to  each  other.  You  may^  occasionally,  it  is  true,  hear  one 
literary  man  abusing  his  brother;  but  why?  Not  in  the  least 
out  of  malice  ;  not  at  all  from  envy  ;  merely  from  a  sense  of 
truth  and  public  duty.  Suppose,  for  instance,  I  good-naturedly 
point  out  a  blemish  in  my  friend  Mr,  Punch's  person,  and  say 
Mr,  P,  has  a  humpback  and  his  nose  and  chin  are  more  crooked 
than  those  features  in  the  Apollo  or  Antinous,  which  we  are 
accustomed  to  consider  as  our  standards  of  beaut}' ;  does  this 
argue  malice  on  my  part  towards  Mr.  Punch  ?  Not  in  the  least. 
It  is  the  critic's  duty  to  point  out  defects  as  well  as  merits,  and 
he  invariably  does  his  duty  with  the  utmost  gentleness  and  can- 
dor. 

An  intelligent  foreigner's  testimony  about  our  manners  is 
always  worth  having,  and  I  think,  in  this  respect,  the  work  of 
an  eminent  American,  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis,  is  eminently  valuable 
and  impartial.  In  his  History  of  Ernest  Clay,"  a  crack  maga- 
zine-writer, the  reader  will  get  an  exact  account  of  the  life  of 


328 


THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 


a  popular  man  of  letters  in  England.  He  is  alwaj^s  the  great 
lion  of  society. 

He  takes  the  pas  of  dukes  and  earls  ;  all  the  nobilit}^  crowd 
to  see  him :  I  forget  how  man}'  baronesses  and  duchesses  fall 
in  love  with  him.  But  on  this  subject  let  us  hold  our  tongues. 
Modesty  forbids  that  we  should  reveal  the  names  of  the  heart- 
broken countesses  and  dear  marchionesses  who  are  pining  for 
ever}'  one  of  the  contributors  in  Punch, 

If  anybody  wants  to  know  how  intimately  authors  are  con- 
nected with  the  fashionable  world,  they  have  but  to  read  the 
genteel  novels.  What  refinement  and  delicac}"  pervades  the 
works  of  Mrs.  Barnab}' !  What  delightful  good  company  do 
3'ou  meet  with  in  Mrs.  Armj'tage  !  She  seldom  introduces  you 
to  anj'bod}'  under  a  marquis  !  I  don't  know  an3'thing  more 
delicious  than  the  pictures  of  genteel  life  in  "Ten  Thousand 
a  Year,"  except  perhaps  the  "  Young  Duke,"  and  Coningsb}'." 
There's  a  modest  grace  about  them^  and  an  air  of  eas}'  high 
fashion,  which  only  belongs  to  blood,  my  dear  Sir  —  to  true 
blood. 

And  what  linguists  many  of  our  writers  are  !  Lad}'  Bulwer, 
Lady  Londonderry,  Sir  Edward  himself  —  they  write  the 
French  language  with  a  luxurious  elegance  and  ease  which  sets 
them  far  above  their  continental  rivals,  of  w^hom  not  one  (ex- 
cept Paul  de  Kock)  knows  a  word  of  English. 

And  what  Briton  can  read  without  enjoyment  the  works  of 
James,  so  admirable  for  terseness ;  and  the  playful  humor 
and  dazzling  offhand  lightness  of  Ainsworth?  Among  other 
humorists,  one  might  glance  at  a  Jerrold,  the  chivalrous  advo- 
cate of  Toryism  and  Church  and  State  ;  an  a  Beckett,  with 
a  lightsome  pen,  but  a  savage  earnestness  of  purpose ;  a 
Jeames,  whose  pure  style,  and  wit  unmingled  with  buffoonery, 
was  relished  by  a  congenial  public. 

Speaking  of  critics,  perhaps  there  never  was  a  review  that 
has  done  so  much  for  literature  as  the  admirable  Quarterly, 
It  has  its  prejudices,  to  be  sure,  as  which  of  us  have  not?  It 
goes  out  of  its  way  to  abuse  a  great  man,  or  lays  mercilessly 
on  to  such  pretenders  as  Keats  and  Tennyson  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  the  friend  of  all  young  authors,  and  has 
marked  and  nurtured  all  the  rising  talent  of  the  country.  It  is 
loved  by  everybody.  There,  again,  is  Blackwood's  Magazine  — 
conspicuous  for  modest  elegance  and  amiable  satire  ;  that  re- 
view never  passes  the  bounds  of  politeness  in  a  joke.  It  is  the 
arbiter  of  manners  ;  and,  while  gently  exposing  the  foibles  of 
Londoners  (for  whom  the  beaux  esprits  of  Edinburgh  entertain 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


329 


a  justifiable  contempt),  it  is  never  coarse  in  its  fun.  The  fiery 
enthusiasm  of  the  Athenceum  is  well  known  :  and  the  bitter  wit 
of  the  too  difficult  Literary  Gazette,  The  Examiner  is  perhaps 
too  timid,  and  the  Spectator  too  boisterous  in  its  praise  —  but 
who  can  carp  at  these  minor  faults  ?  No,  no ;  the  critics 
of  England  and  the  authors  of  England  are  unrivalled  as 
a  body  ;  and  hence  it  becomes  impossible  for  us  to  find  fault 
with  them. 

Above  all,  I  never  knew  a  man  of  letters  ashamed  of  his  pro- 
fession. Those  who  know  us,  know  what  an  afiectionate  and 
brotherly  spirit  there  is  among  us  all.  Sometimes  one  of  us 
rises  in  the  world ;  we  never  attack  him  or  sneer  at  him  under 
those  circumstances,  but  rejoice  to  a  man  at  his  success. 
If  Jones  dines  with  a  lord.  Smith  never  says  Jones  is  a  courtier 
and  cringer.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  does  Jones,  who  is  in 
the  habit  of  frequenting  the  society  of  great  people,  give  him- 
self an}^  airs  on  account  of  the  company  he  keeps  ;  but  will 
leave  a  duke's  arm  in  Pall  Mall  to  come  over  and  speak  to  poor 
Brown,  the  3'oung  penny-a-liner. 

That  sense  of  equality  and  fraternity  amongst  authors  has 
alwa^'s  struck  me  as  one  of  the  most  amiable  characteristics  of 
the  class.  It  is  because  we  know  and  respect  each  other,  that 
the  world  respects  us  so  much ;  that  we  hold  such  a  good  posi- 
tion in  societ}^,  and  demean  ourselves  so  irreproachably  when 
there. 

Literary  persons  are  held  in  such  esteem  by  the  nation,  that 
about  two  of  them  have  been  absolutel}'  invited  to  court  during 
the  present  reign  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  towards  the  end  of  the 
season,  one  or  two  will  be  asked  to  dinner  by  Sir  Robert  Peel. 

They  are  such  favorites  with  the  public,  that  the}'  are  con- 
tinually obliged  to  have  their  pictures  taken  and  published  ; 
and  one  or  two  could  be  pointed  out,  of  whom  the  nation 
insists  upon  having  a  fresh  portrait  everj^  year.  Nothing  can 
be  more  gratifying  than  this  proof  of  the  affectionate  regard 
which  the  people  has  for  its  instructors. 

Literature  is  held  in  such  honor  in  England,  that  there  is 
a  sum  of  near  twelve  hundred  pounds  per  annum  set  apart 
to  pension  deserving  persons  following  that  profession.  And 
a  great  compliment  this  is,  too,  to  the  professors,  and  a  proof 
of  their  generall}'  prosperous  and  flourishing  condition.  They 
are  generally  so  rich  and  thrifty,  that  scarcely  any  money  is 
wanted  to  help  them. 

If  ever}'  word  of  this  is  true,  how,  I  should  like  to  know, 
am  I  to  write  about  Literary  Snobs? 


330 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  LITTLE  ABOUT  IRISH  SNOBS. 

You  do  not,  to  be  sure,  imagine  that  there  are  no  other  Snobs 
in  Ireland  than  those  of  the  amiable  party  who  wish  to  make 
pikes  of  iron  raih'oads  (it's  a  fine  Irish  economy),  and  to  cut 
the  throats  of  the  Saxon  invaders.  These  are  of  the  venomous 
sort ;  and  had  they  been  invented  in  his  time,  St.  Patrick  would 
have  banished  them  out  of  the  kingdom  along  with  the  other 
dangerous  reptiles. 

I  think  it  is  the  Four  Masters,  or  else  it's  Olaus  Magnus,  or 
else  it's  certain!}^  O'Neill  Daunt,  in  the  ''Catechism  of  Irish 
Histor}',"  who  relates  that  when  Richard  the  Second  came  to 
Ireland,  and  the  Irish  chiefs  did  homage  to  him,  going  down  on 
their  knees  —  the  poor  simple  creatures  !  —  and  worshipping 
and  wondering  before  the  English  king  and  the  dandies  of  his 
court,  my  lords  the  English  noblemen  mocked  and  jeered  at 
their  uncouth  Irish  admirers,  mimicked  their  talk  and  gestures, 
pulled  their  poor  old  beards,  and  laughed  at  the  strange  fashion 
of  their  garments. 

The  English  Snob  rampant  alwaj^s  does  this  to  the  present 
da}'.  There  is  no  Snob  in  existence,  perhaps,  that  has  such  an 
indomitable  belief  in  himself :  that  sneers  you  down  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  besides,  and  has  such  an  insufferable,  admirable, 
stupid  contempt  for  all  people  but  his  own  —  nay,  for  all  sets 
but  his  own.  "  Gwacious  Gad!"  what  stories  about  "the 
Iwish  "  these  young  dandies  accompanying  King  Richard  must 
have  had  to  tell,  when  the}^  returned  to  Pall  Mall,  and  smoked 
their  cigars  upon  the  steps  of  ''  White's  !  " 

The  Irish  Snobbishness  develops  itself  not  in  pride  so  much 
as  in  servility  and  mean  admirations,  and  trumpery  imitations 
of  their  neighbors.  And  I  wonder  De  Tocqueville  and  De 
Beaumont,  and  The  Times'  Commissioner,  did  not  explain  the 
Snobbishness  of  Ireland  as  contrasted  with  our  own.  Ours  is 
that  of  Richard's  Norman  Knights,  —  haught}',  brutal,  stupid, 
and  })erfectly  self-confident;  —  theirs  of  the  poor,  wondering, 
kneeling,  simi)le  chieftains.  Thc}^  are  on  their  knees  still  before 
English  fashion  —  these  simple,  wild  people;  and  indeed  it  is 
hard  not  to  grin  at  some  of  their  naive  exhibitions. 

Some  years  since,  when  a  certain  great  orator  was  Lord 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


331 


Mayor  of  Dublin,  he  used  to  wear  a  red  gown  and  a  cocked  hat, 
the  splendor  of  which  delighted  him  as  much  as  a  new  curtain- 
ring  in  her  nose  or  a  string  of  glass  beads  round  her  neck 
charms  Queen  Quasheeneaboo.  He  used  to  pay  visits  to  people 
in  tbis  dress  ;  to  appear  at  meetings  hundreds  of  miles  off,  in 
the  red  velvet  gown.  And  to  hear  the  people  crying  Yes, 
me  Lard  !  "  and  No,  me  Lard  !  "  and  to  read  the  prodigious 
accounts  of  his  Lordship  in  the  papers  :  it  seemed  as  if  the 
people  and  he  liked  to  be  taken  in  by  this  twopenu}'  splen- 
dor. Twopenny  magnificence,  indeed,  exists  all  over  Ireland, 
and  may  be  considered  as  the  great  characteristic  of  the  Snob- 
bishness of  that  country. 

When  Mrs.  Mulholligan,  the  grocer's  lad}-,  retires  to  Kings- 
town, she  has  Mulholliganville painted  over  the  gate  of 
her  villa ;  and  receives  you.  at  a  door  that  won't  shut,  or 
gazes  at  you  out  of  a  window  that  is  glazed  with  an  old 
petticoat. 

Be  it  ever  so  shabby  and  dismal,  nobody  ever  owns  to 
keeping  a  shop.  A  fellow  whose  stock  in  trade  is  a  penny 
roll  or  a  tumbler  of  lollipops,  calls  his  cabin  the  American 
Flour  Stores,"  or  the  ''Depository  for  Colonial  Produce,"  or 
some  such  name. 

As  for  Inns,  there  are  none  in  the  country  ;  Hotels  abound, 
as  well  furnished  as  Mulholliganville  ;  but  again  there  are  no 
such  people  as  landlords  and  landladies  :  the  landlord  is  out 
with  the  hounds,  and  my  lady  in  the  parlor  talking  with  the 
Captain  or  pla3'ing  the  piano. 

If  a  gentleman  has  a  hundred  a  year  to  leave  to  his  family 
they  all  become  gentlemen,  all  keep  a  nag,  ride  to  hounds,  and 
swagger  about  in  the  "  Phaynix,"  and  grow  tufts  to  their  chins 
like  so  many  real  aristocrats. 

A  friend  of  mine  has  taken  to  be  a  painter,  and  lives  out  of 
Ireland,  where  he  is  considered  to  have  disgraced  the  famil}'  by 
choosing  such  a  profession.  His  father  is  a  wine-merchant ; 
and  his  elder  brother  an  apothecary. 

The  number  of  men  one  meets  in  London  and  on  the  Conti- 
nent who  have  a  pretty  little  property  of  five-and-twenty  hun- 
dred a  3^ear  in  Ireland  is  prodigious,  those  who  icill  have  nine 
thousand  a  year  in  land  when  somebod}'  dies  are  still  more 
numerous.  I  myself  have  met  as  man}^  descendants  from  Irish 
kings  as  would  form  a  brigade. 

And  who  has  not  met  the  Irishman  who  apes  the  English- 
man, and  who  forgets  his  countrv  and  tries  to  forget  his  accent, 
or  to  smother  the  taste^of  it,  as  it  were?    ''Come,  dine  with 


332 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


me,  ni}^  boy,"  sa3^s  O'Dowd,  of  O'Dowdstown,  "  j^ou'U  Jind  us 
all  English  there ; "  which  he  tells  you  with  a  brogue  as  broad 
as  from  here  to  Kingstown  Pier.  And  did  you  never  hear  Mrs. 
Captain  Macmanus  talk  about  I-ah-land,"  and  her  account  of 
her  fawther's  esteet?"  Very  few  men  have  rubbed  through  the 
world  without  hearing  and  witnessing  some  of  these  Hibernian 
phenomena  —  these  twopenny  splendors. 

And  what  sa}'  3^ou  to  the  summit  of  society  —  the  Castle  — 
with  a  sham  king,  and  sham  lords-in- waiting,  and  sham  loyalty, 
and  a  sham  Haroun  Alraschid,  to  go  about  in  a  sham  disguise, 
making  believe  to  be  affable  and  splendid  ?  That  Castle  is  the 
pink  and  pride  of  Snobbishness.  A  Court  Circular  is  bad 
enough,  with  two  columns  of  print  about  a  little  baby  that's 
christened  —  but  think  of  people  liking  a  sham  Court  Cir- 
cular I 

I  think  the  shams  of  Ireland  are  more  outrageous  than 
those  of  any  countr3\  A  fellow  shows  j^ou  a  hill  and  says. 
That's  the  highest  mountain  in  all  Ireland  ;  "  or  a  gentleman 
tells  you  lie  is  descended  from  Brian  Boroo,  and  has  his  five- 
and-thirty  hundred  a  year ;  or  Mrs.  Macmanus  describes  her 
fawther's  esteet ;  or  ould  Dan  rises  and  saj^s  the  Irish  women 
are  the  loveliest,  the  Irish  men  the  bravest,  the  Irish  land 
the  most  fertile  in  the  world :  and  nobod}'  believes  anybody  — 
the  latter  doesn't  believe  his  story  nor  the  hearer :  —  but 
they  make  believe  to  believe,  and  solemnly  do  honor  to 
humbug. 

O  Ireland  !  O  m}'  country  !  (for  I  make  little  doubt  that  I 
am  descended  from  Brian  Boroo  too)  when  will  you  acknowl- 
edge that  two  and  two  make  four,  and  call  a  pikestaff  a  pike- 
staff ?  —  that  is  the  very  best  use  3^ou  can  make  of  the  latter. 
Irish  snobs  will  dwindle  away  then,  and  we  shall  never  hear 
tell  of  Hereditary  Bondsmen. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PARTY-GIVING  SNOBS. 

Our  selection  of  vSnobs  has  lately  been  too  exclusively  of  a 
political  character.  "  Give  us  private  Snobs,"  cry  the  dear 
ladies.  (I  have  ])efore  me  the  letter  of  one  fair  correspondent 
of  the  fishing  village  of  Briglithelmstonc  in  Sussex,  and  could 
her  commands  ever  be  disobeyed?)    ''Tell  us  more,  dear  Mr. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


333 


Snob,  about  your  experience  of  Snobs  in  society."  Heaven 
bless  the  dear  souls  !  —  the}^  are  accustomed  to  the  word  now  — 
the  odious,  vulgar,  horrid,  unpronounceable  word  slips  out  of 
their  lips  with  the  prettiest  gUbness  possible.  1  should  not  won- 
der if  it  were  used  at  Court  amongst  the  Maids  of  Honor.  In 
the  ver}"  best  society  1  know  it  is.  And  why  not?  Snobbish- 
ness is  vulgar  —  the  mere  words  are  not :  that  which  we  call  a 
Snob,  by  any  other  name  would  still  be  Snobbish. 

Well,  then.  As  the  season  is  drawing  to  a  close  :  as  many 
hundreds  of  kind  souls,  snobbish  or  otherwise,  have  quitted 
London  ;  as  man}'  hospitable  carpets  are  taken  up  ;  and  win- 
dow-blinds are  pitilessly  papered  with  the  Morning  Herald ;  and 
mansions  once  inhabited  by  cheerful  owners  are  now  consigned 
to  the  care  of  the  housekeeper's  drear}^  locum  tenens  —  some 
mouldy  old  woman,  who,  in  reply  to  the  hopeless  clanging  of  the 
bell,  peers  at  you  for  a  moment  from  the  area,  and  then  slowly 
unbolting  the  great  hall-door,  informs  you  my  lady  has  left  town, 
or  that  the  family's  in  the  country,"  or  gone  up  the  Rind," — 
or  what  not ;  as  the  season  and  parties  are  over  ;  why  not  con- 
sider Part3^-giving  Snobs  for  a  while,  and  review  the  conduct  of 
some  of  those  individuals  who  have  quitted  the  town  for  six 
months  ? 

Some  of  those  worthy  Snobs  are  making-believe  to  go  yacht- 
ing, and,  dressed  in  telescopes  and  pea-jackets,  are  passing  their 
time  between  Cherbourg  and  Cowes  ;  some  living  higgled3'-pig- 
gledy  in  dismal  little  huts  in  Scotland,  provisioned  with  canisters 
of  portable  soup,  and  fricandeaux  hermetically  sealed  in  tin,  are 
passing  their  days  slaughtering  grouse  on  the  moors  ;  some  are 
dozing  and  bathing  awa}'  the  effects  of  the  season  at  Kissingen, 
or  watching  the  ingenious  game  of  Trente  et  quarante  at  Hom- 
burg  and  Ems.  We  can  afford  to  be  very  bitter  upon  them  now 
they  are  all  gone.  Now  there  are  no  more  parties,  let  us  have  at 
the  Party-giving  Snobs.  The  dinner-giving,  the  ball-giving, 
the  dejeuner-gxYmg^  the  conversazione-gixmg  Snobs  —  Lord  ! 
Lord  !  what  havoc  might  have  been  made  amongst  them  had  we 
attacked  them  during  the  plethora  of  the  season  !  I  should 
have  been  obliged  to  have  a  guard  to  defend  me  from  the  fiddlers 
and  pastry-cooks,  indignant  at  the  abuse  of  their  patrons.  Al- 
ready I'm  told  that,  from  some  flippant  and  unguarded  expres- 
sions considered  derogatory  to  Baker  Street  and  Harley  Street, 
rents  have  fallen  in  these  respectable  quarters  ;  and  orders  have 
been  issued  that  at  least  Mr.  Snob  shall  be  asked  to  parties  there 
no  more.  Well,  then  —  now  they  are  all  away,  let  us  frisk  at 
our  ease,  and  have  at  everything,  like  the  bull  in  the  china-shop. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


They  mayn't  hear  of  what  is  going  on  in  their  absence,  and,  if 
the}^  do,  the}'  can't  bear  malice  for  six  months.  We  will  begin 
to  make  it  up  with  them  about  next  Februar}^,  and  let  next  year 
take  care  of  itself.  We  shall  have  no  more  dinners  from  the 
dinner-giving  Snobs  :  no  more  balls  from  the  ball-givers :  no 
more  conversaziones  (thank  Muss}^ !  as  Jeames  says) ,  from  the 
Conversazione  Snob :  and  what  is  to  prevent  us  from  telling 
the  truth? 

The  snobbishness  of  Conversazione  Snobs  is  very  soon  dis- 
posed of :  as  soon  as  that  cup  of  wash}'  bohea  that  is  handed 
to  3'ou  in  the  tea-room  ;  or  the  mudd}'  remnant  of  ice  that  3'ou 
grasp  in  the  suffocating  scuffle  of  the  assembly  up  stairs. 

Good  heavens!  What  do  people  mean  by  going  there? 
What  is  done  there,  that  everybody  throngs  into  those  three 
little  rooms  ?  Was  the  Black  Hole  considered  to  be  an  agree- 
able reunion^  that  Britons  in  the  dog-days  here  seek  to  imi- 
tate it?  After  being  rammed  to  a  jelly  in  a  doorway-  (where 
you  feel  your  feet  going  through  Lady  Barbara  Macbeth's  lace 
flounces,  and  get  a  look  from  that  haggard  and  painted  old 
harp3',  compared  to  which  the  gaze  of  Ugolino  is  quite  cheer- 
ful) ;  after  withdrawing  3'our  elbow  out  of  poor  gasping  Bob 
Guttleton's  white  waistcoat,  from  which  cushion  it  was  impos- 
sible to  remove  it,  though  3'ou  knew  3'ou  were  squeezing  poor 
Bob  into  an  apoplex3'^ — you  find  3'ourself  at  last  in  the  recep- 
tion-room, and  try  to  catch  the  eye  of  Mrs.  Botibol,  the  con- 
versazione-giver.  When  3'ou  catch  her  e3'e,  3'ou  are  expected 
to  grin,  and  she  smiles  too,  for  the  four  hundredth  time  that 
night ;  and,  if  she's  very  glad  to  see  3^ou,  waggles  her  little 
hand  before  her  face  as  if  to  blow  you  a  kiss,  as  the  phrase  is. 

Why  the  deuce  should  Mrs.  Botibol  blow  me  a  kiss?  I 
wouldn't  kiss  her  for  the  workl.  Wh3'  do  I  grin  when  I  see 
her,  as  if  I  was  delighted  ?  Am  I  ?  1  don't  care  a  straw  for 
Mrs.  Botibol.  I  know  what  she  thinks  about  me.  I  know 
what  she  said  about  m3'  last  volume  of  poems  (I  had  it  from  a 
dear  mutual  friend).  Why,  1  say  in  a  word,  are  we  going  on 
ogling  and  telegraphhig  each  other  in  this  insane  wa3'?  —  Be- 
cause we  are  both  performing  the  ceremonies  demanded  b3'  the 
Great  Snob  Society  ;  whose  dictates  we  all  of  us  obe3'. 

Well ;  the  recognition  is  over  —  my  jaws  have  returned  to 
their  usual  Englisli  expression  of  subdued  agon3'  and  intense 
gloom,  and  the  Botibol  is  grinnin<>;  and  kissing  her  fingers  to 
somebody  else,  who  is  squeezing  through  the  aperture  b3'  which 
we  have  just  entered.  It  is  Lady  Ann  Clutterbuck,  who  has 
her  Friday  evenings,  as  Botibol  (Botty  we  call  her),  has  her 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


335 


Wednesdays.  That  is  Miss  Clementina  Clutterbuck,  the  ca- 
daverous young  woman  in  green,  with  florid  auburn  hair,  who 
has  pubUshed  her  volume  of  poems  (''The  Death-Shriek;" 

Damien  ;  "  "  The  P^aggot  of  Joan  of  Arc  ;  "  and  "  Transla- 
tions from  the  German" — of  course).  The  conversazione- 
women  salute  each  other,  calling  each  other  ''My  dear  Lady 
Ann"  and  "  My  dear  good  Eliza,"  and  hating  each  other,  as 
women  hate  who  give  parties  on  Wednesdays  and  Frida3's. 
With  inexpressible  pain  dear  good  Eliza  sees  Ann  go  up  and 
coax  and  wheedle  Abou  Gosh,  who  has  just  arrived  from  Syria, 
and  beg  him  to  patronize  her  Fridays. 

All  this  while,  amidst  the  crowd  and  the  scuffle,  and  a  per- 
petual buzz  and  chatter,  and  the  flare  of  the  wax-candles,  and 
an  intolerable  smell  of  musk  — what  the  poor  Snobs  who  write 
fashionable  romances  call  "  the  gleam  of  gems,  the  odor  of 
perfumes,  the  blaze  of  countless  lamps"  —  a  scrubby-looking, 
yellow-faced  foreigner,  with  cleaned  gloves,  is  warbling  inau- 
dibly  in  a  corner,  to  the  accompaniment  of  another.  "The 
Great  Cacafogo,"  Mrs.  Botibol  whispers,  as  she  passes  3'ou  hy. 
"  A  great  creature,  ThumpenstrumpfF,  is  at  the  instrument  — 
the  Hetman  Platoff  s  pianist,  you  know." 

To  hear  this  Cacafogo  and  ThumpenstrumpflT,  a  hundred 
people  are  gathered  together  —  a  bevy  of  dowagers,  stout  or 
scraggy  ;  a  faint  sprinkling  of  misses  ;  six  moody-looking  lords, 
perfectl}^  meek  and  solemn  ;  wonderful  foreign  Counts,  with 
bushy  whiskers  and  3^ellow  faces,  and  a  great  deal  of  dubious 
jewellery ;  young  dandies  with  slim  waists  and  open  necks,  and 
self-satisfied  simpers,  and  flowers  in  their  buttons  ;  the  old, 
stiff,  stout,  bald-headed  conversazione  roues^  whom  you  meet 
ever3'where  —  who  never  miss  a  night  of  this  delicious  enjoy- 
ment; the  three  last-caught  lions  of  the  season  —  Higgs,  the 
traveller.  Biggs,  the  novelist,  and  Tofre3^,  who  has  come  out 
so  on  the  sugar  question ;  Captain  Flash,  who  is  invited  on  ac- 
count of  his  prett3'  wife  ;  and  Lord  Ogieby,  who  goes  where- 
ever  she  goes.  Que  sgais-je?  Who  are  the  owners  of  all  those 
show3'  scarfs  and  white  neck-cloths?  —  Ask  little  Tom  Prig, 
who  is  there  in  all  his  glor3',  knows  everybodv,  has  a  stor3' 
about  everv  one  ;  and,  as  he  trips  home  to  his  lodgings  in  Jer- 
myn  Street,  with  his  gibus-hat  and  his  little  glazed  pumps, 
thinks  he  is  the  fashionablest  3'oung  fellow  in  town,  and  that  he 
reall3'  has  passed  a  night  of  exquisite  enjo3'ment. 

You  go  up  (with  your  usual  eas3'  elegance  of  manner)  and 
talk  to  Miss  Smith  in  a  corner.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Snob,  Tm  afraid 
you're  sadly  satirical." 


336 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


That's  all  she  says.  If  3'ou  sa}^  it's  fine  weather,  she  bursts 
out  laughing ;  or  hint  that  it's  very  hot,  she  vows  3'ou  are  the 
drollest  wretch  !  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Botibol  is  simpering  on  fresh 
an-ivals  ;  the  individual  at  the  door  is  roaring  out  their  names  ; 
poor  Cacafogo  is  quavering  away  in  the  music-room,  under  the 
impression  that  he  will  be  lance  in  the  world  b}'  singing  in- 
audiblj'  here.  And  what  a  blessing  it  is  to  squeeze  out  of  the 
door,  and  into  the  street,  where  a  half-hundred  of  carriages  are 
in  waiting ;  and  where  the  link-bo}',  with  that  unnecessary 
lantern  of  his,  pounces  upon  all  who  issue  out,  and  will  insist 
upon  getting  3'our  noble  honor's  lordship's  cab. 

And  to  think  that  there  are  people  who,  after  having  been 
to  Botibol  on  Wednesday,  will  go  to  Clutterbuck  on  Friday ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DINING-OUT  SNOBS. 

In  England  Dinner-giving  Snobs  occupy  a  very  important 
place  in  societ}',  and  the  task  of  describing  them  is  tremendous. 
There  was  a  time  in  m}^  life  when  the  consciousness  of  having 
eaten  a  man's  salt  rendered  me  dumb  regarding  his  demerits, 
and  I  thought  it  a  wicked  act  and  a  breach  of  hospitality  to 
speak  ill  of  him. 

But  why  should  a  saddle-of-mutton  blind  you,  or  a  turbot 
and  lobster-sauce  shut  your  mouth  for  ever?  With  advancing 
age,  men  see  their  duties  more  clearl3\  I  am  not  to  be  hood- 
winked any  longer  by  a  slice  of  venison,  be  it  ever  so  fat ;  and 
as  for  being  dumb  on  account  of  turbot  and  lobster-sauce  —  of 
course  I  am  ;  good  manners  ordain  that  I  should  be  so,  until  I 
have  swallowed  the  compound  —  but  not  afterwards ;  directly 
the  victuals  are  discussed,  and  John  takes  away  the  plate,  m}' 
tongue  begins  to  wag.  Does  not  yours,  if  3  ou  have  a  pleasant 
neighbor? — a  lovely  creature,  say,  of  some  five-and-thirty, 
whose  daughters  have  not  yet  quite  come  out  —  they  are  the 
best  talkers.  As  for  your  3'oung  misses,  the}^  are  only  put 
about  the  table  to  look  at  —  like  the  flowers  in  the  centre-piece. 
Their  blushing  youth  and  natural  modest}'  preclude  them  from 
that  easy,  confidential,  conversational  abandon  which  forms  the 
delight  of  the  intercourse  with  their  dear  mothers.  It  is  to 
these,  if  he  would  prosper  in  his  profession,  that  the  Dining- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


337 


out  Snob  should  address  himself.  Suppose  you  sit  next  to  one 
of  these,  how  pleasant  it  is,  in  the  intervals  of  the  banquet, 
actuall}^  to  abuse  the  victuals  and  the  giver  of  the  entertain- 
ment !  It's  twice  as  piquant  to  make  fun  of  a  man  under  his 
very  nose. 

''What  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob?"  some  innocent  youth, 
who  is  not  repandu  in  the  world,  may  ask  —  or  some  simple 
reader  who  has  not  the  benefits  of  London  experience. 

My  dear  sir,  I  will  show  you  —  not  all,  for  that  is  impossi- 
ble —  but  several  kinds  of  Dinner-giving  Snobs.  For  instance, 
suppose  you,  in  the  middle  rank  of  Ufe,  accustomed  to  Mutton, 
roast  on'  Tuesday,  cold  on  Wednesday,  hashed  on  Thursday, 
&c.,  with  small  means  and  a  small  establishment,  choose  to 
waste  the  former  and  set  the  latter  topsy-turvy  by  giving  enter- 
tainments unnaturally  cx)stly  —  you  come  into  the  Dinner-giving 
Snob  class  at  once.  Suppose  you  get  in  cheap-made  dishes 
from  the  pastry-cook's  and  hire  a  couple  of  green-grocers,  or 
carpet-beaters,  to  figure  as  footmen,  dismissing  honest  Molly, 
who  waits  on  common  days,  and  bedizening  your  table  (ordi- 
narily ornamented  with  willow-pattern  crockery)  with  twopenny- 
halfpenny  Birmingham  plate.  Suppose  you  pretend  to  be 
richer  and  grander  than  you  ought  to  be  —  you  are  a  Dinner- 
giving  Snob.  And  oh,  I  tremble  to  think  how  many  and  many 
a  one  will  read  this  ! 

A  man  who  entertains  in  this  waj'  —  and,  alas,  how  few  do 
not  1  —  is  like  a  fellow  who  would  borrow  his  neighbor's  coat  to 
make  a  show  in,  or  a  ladj^  who  flaunts  in  the  diamonds  from 
next  door  — a  humbug,  in  a  word,  and  amongst  the  Snobs  he 
must  be  set  down. 

A  man  who  goes  out  of  his  natural  sphere  of  societ}^  to  ask 
Lords,  Generals,  Aldermen,  and  other  persons  of  fashion,  but  is 
niggardly  of  his  hospitality  toward  his  own  equals,  is  a  Dinner- 
giving  Snob.  My  dear  friend.  Jack  Tufthunt,  for  example, 
knows  one  Lord  whom  he  met  at  a  watering-place  :  old  Lord 
Mumble,  who  is  as  toothless  as  a  three-months-old  baby,  and  as 
mum  as  an  undertaker,  and  as  dull  as  —  well,  we  will  not  par- 
ticularize. Tufthunt  never  has  a  dinner  now  but  3'ou  see  this 
solemn  old  toothless  patrician  at  the  right-hand  of  Mrs.  Tuft- 
hunt—  Tufthunt  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob. 

Old  Livermore,  old  Soy,  old  Chutney,  the  East  Indian  Di- 
rector, old  Cutler,  the  Surgeon,  &c., — that  society  of  old 
fogies,  in  fine,  who  give  each  other  dinners  round  and  round, 
and  dine  for  the  mere  purpose  of  guttling  —  these,  again,  are 
Dinner-giving  Snobs. 

22 


338 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Again,  my  friend  Lad}^  MacScrew,  who  has  three  grenadier 
flunkies  in  lace  round  the  table,  and  serves  up  a  scrag-of- 
mutton  on  silver,  and  dribbles  yon  out  bad  sherry  and  port  by 
thimblefuls,  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob  of  the  other  sort ;  and  I 
confess,  for  my  part,  I  would  rather  dine  with  old  Livermore  or 
old  Soy  than  with  her  Ladyship. 

Stinginess  is  snobbish.  Ostentation  is  snobbish.  Too  great 
profusion  is  snobbish.  Tuft-hunting  is  snobbish.  But  I  own 
there  are  people  more  snobbish  than  all  those  whose  defects  are 
above  mentioned:  viz.,  those  individuals  who  can,  and  don't 
give  dinners  at  all.  The  man  without  hospitality  shall  never  sit 
sub  iisdem  trahibus  with  me.  Let  the  sordid  wretch  go  mumble 
his  bone  alone  ! 

What,  again,  is  true  hospitality?  Alas,  my  dear  friends  and 
brother  Snobs  !  how  little  do  we  meet  of  it  after  all !  Are  the 
motives  pure  which  induce  3'our  friends  to  ask  3'ou  to  dinner? 
This  has  often  come  across  me.  Does  3^our  entertainer  want 
something  from  you?  For  instance,  I  am  not  of  a  suspicious 
turn  ;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  when  Hooke}^  is  bringing  out  a  new 
work,  he  asks  the  critics  all  round  to  dinner  ;  that  when  Walker 
has  got  his  picture  ready  for  the  Exhibition,  he  somehow  grows 
exceedingl}'  hospitable,  and  has  his  friends  of  the  press  to  a 
quiet  cutlet  and  a  glass  of  Sillery.  Old  Hunks,  the  miser,  who 
died  lately  (leaving  his  money  to  his  housekeeper)  lived  many 
years  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  by  simply  taking  down,  at  all  his 
friends',  the  names  and  Christian  names  of  all  the  children.  But 
though  you  may  have  your  own  opinion  about  the  hospitality  of 
your  acquaintances  ;  and  though  men  who  ask  you  from  sordid 
motives  are  most  decidedly  Dinner-giving  Snobs,  it  is  best  not 
to  inquire  into  their  motives  too  keenly.  Be  not  too  curious 
about  the  mouth  of  a  gift-horse.  After  all,  a  man  does  not  in- 
tend to  insult  you  by  asking  you  to  dinner. 

Though,  for  that  matter,  I  know  some  characters  about  town 
who  actually  consider  themselves  injured  and  insulted  if  the 
dinner  or  the  company  is  not  to  tlieir  liking.  There  is  Guttle- 
ton,  who  dines  at  home  off  a  shilling's  worth  of  beef  from  the 
cooksliop,  l)ut  if  he  is  asked  to  dine  at  a  house  where  there  are 
not  pease  at  the  end  of  May,  or  cucumbers  in  March  along  with 
the  turbot,  thinks  himself 'insulted  l)y  being  invited.  ''Good 
Ged  !  "  says  he,  what  the  deuce  do  the  Forkers  mean  by  ask- 
ing me  to  a  family  dinner?    I  can  get  mutton  at  liome  ; "  or 

Wliat  infernal  irnpertinence  it  is  of  the  Si)ooners  to  get  entrees 
from  the  jjastry-cook's,  and  fancy  that  1  am  to  be  deceived  with 
their  stories  about  their  French  cook  !  "    Then,  again,  there  is 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


339 


Jack  Puddington  —  I  saw  that  honest  fellow  t'other  day  quite 
in  a  rage,  because,  as  chance  would  have  it,  Sir  John  Carver 
asked  him  to  meet  the  very  same  party  he  had  met  at  Colo- 
nel Cramley's  the  day  before,  and  he  had  not  got  up  a  new 
set  of  stories  to  entertain  them.  Poor  Dinner-giving  Snobs ! 
you  don't  know  what  small  thanks  you  get  for  all  your  pains 
and  money  !  How  we  Dining-out  Snobs  sneer  at  your  cookery, 
and  pooh-pooh  3^our  old  hock,  and  are  incredulous  about  3'oar 
four-and-sixpenny  cliampagne,  and  know  that  the  side-dishes  of 
to-day  are  rechaiiffes  from  the  dinner  of  yesterday,  and  mark  how 
certain  dishes  are  whisked  off  the  table  untasted,  so  that  they 
ma}^  figure  at  the  banquet  to-morrow.  Whenever,  for  my  part, 
I  see  the  head  man  particularly  anxious  to  escamoter  a  frican- 
deau  or  a  blanc-mange,  I  always  call  out,  and  insist  upon  mas- 
sacring it  with  a  spoon.  All  this  sort  of  conduct  makes  one 
popular  with  the  Dinner-giving  Snob.  One  friend  of  mine,  I 
know,  has  made  a  prodigious  sensation  in  good  societ}^  by  an- 
nouncing apropos  of  certain  dishes  when  offered  to  him,  that  he 
never  eats  aspic  except  at  Lord  Tittup's,  and  that  Lad}^  Jim- 
iny's  chef  is  the  onl}'  man  in  London  who  knows  how  to  dress  — 
Filet  en  serpenteau  —  or  Supreme  de  volaille  aux  truffes. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DINNER-GIVING  SNOBS  FURTHER  CONSIDERED. 

If  my  friends  would  but  follow  the  present  prevailing  fashion, 
I  think  they  ought  to  give  me  a  testimonial  for  the  paper  on 
Dinner-giving  Snobs,  which  I  am  now  writing.  What  do  you 
say  now  to  a  handsome  comfortable  dinner-service  of  plate  {not 
including  plates,  for  I  hold  silver  plates  to  be  sheer  wanton- 
ness, and  would  almost  as  soon  think  of  silver  tea-cups),  a 
couple  of  neat  teapots,  a  coffee-pot,  trays,  &c.,  with  a  little 
inscription  to  my  wife,  Mrs.  Snob  ;  and  a  half-score  of  silver 
tankards  for  the  little  Snoblings,  to  glitter  on  the  homely  table 
where  they  partake  of  their  quotidian  mutton? 

If  I  had  my  wa}^  and  mv  plans  could  be  carried  out,  dinner- 
giving  would  increase  as  much  on  the  one  hand  as  dinner-giving 
Snobbishness  would  diminish  :  —  to  my  mind  the  most  amiable 
part  of  the  work  lately  published  by  my  esteemed  friend  (if 
upon  a  very  brief  acquaintance  he  will  allow  me  to  call  him  so) , 


340 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Alexis  So3'er,  the  regenerator  —  what  he  (in  his  noble  st3^1e) 
would  call  the  most  succulent,  savorj^  and  elegant  passages  — 
are  those  which  relate,  not  to  the  grand  banquets  and  ceremonial 
dinners,  but  to  his    dinners  at  home." 

The  dinner  at  home  "  ought  to  be  the  centre  of  the  whole 
system  of  dinner-giving.  Your  usual  st^'le  of  meal  —  that  is, 
plenteous,  comfortable,  and  in  its  perfection  —  should  be  that 
to  which  you  welcome  your  friends,  as  it  is  that  of  which  you 
partake  yourself. 

For,  towards  what  woman  in  the  world  do  I  entertain  a 
higher  regard  than  towards  the  beloved  partner  of  my  existence, 
Mrs.  Snob?  Who  should  have  a  greater  place  in  my  affections 
than  her  six  brothers  (three  or  four  of  whom  we  are  pretty 
sure  will  favor  us  with  their  company  at  seven  o'clock),  or  her 
angelic  mother,  my  own  valued  mother-in-law?  —  for  whom, 
finally,  would  I  wish  to  cater  more  generously  than  for  your 
very  humble  servant,  the  present  writer?  Now,  nobod}^  sup- 
poses that  the  Birmingham  plate  is  had  out,  the  disguised  carpet- 
beaters  introduced  to  the  exclusion  of  the  neat  parlor-maid,  the 
miserable  entrees  from  the  pastry-cook's  ordered  in,  and  the  chil- 
dren packed  off  (as  it  is  supposed)  to  the  nursery,  but  reall}^ 
onl}'  to  the  staircase,  down  which  the}'  slide  during  the  dinner- 
time, waylaying  the  dishes  as  the}'  come  out,  and  fingering  the 
round  bumps  on  the  jellies,  and  the  forced-meat  balls  in  the 
soup,  —  nobody,  I  sa}-,  supposes  that  a  dinner  at  home  is 
characterized  by  the  horrible  ceremony,  the  foolish  makeshifts, 
the  mean  pomp  and  ostentation  which  distinguish  our  banquets 
on  grand  field-days. 

Such  a  notion  is  monstrous.  I  would  as  soon  think  of  hav- 
ing my  dearest  Bessy  sitting  opposite  me  in  a  turban  and  bird 
of  paradise,  and  showing  her  jolly  mottled  arms  out  of  blond 
sleeves  in  her  famous  red  satin  gown  :  ay,  or  of  having  Mr. 
Toole  every  day,  in  a  white  waistcoat,  at  my  back,  shouting, 
"  Silence  faw  the  chair  !  " 

Now,  if  this  be  the  case  ;  if  the  Brummagem-plate  pomp 
and  the  processions  of  disguised  footmen  are  odious  and  foolish 
in  everyday  life,  why  not  alwa3's?  Why  should  Jones  and  I, 
who  are  in  the  middle  rank,  alter  the  modes  of  our  l)eing  to 
assume  an  eclat  which  does  not  belong  to  us  —  to  entertain  our 
friends,  who  (if  we  are  worth  anything,  and  honest  fellows  at 
bottom,)  are  men  of  the  middle  rank  too,  who  are  not  in  the 
least  deceived  by  our  temporary  s})len(lor,  and  who  pla}'  off 
exactly  the  same  absurd  trick  upon  us  when  they  ask  us  to 
dine  ? 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


341 


If  it  be  pleasant  to  dine  with  3^our  friends,  as  all  persons 
with  good  stomachs  and  kindl}^  hearts  will,  I  presume,  allow  it 
to  be,  it  is  better  to  dine  twice  than  to  dine  once.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  men  of  small  means  to  be  continually  spending  five- 
and-twenty  or  thirty  shillings  on  each  friend  who  sits  down  to 
their  table.  People  dine  for  less.  I  myself  have  seen,  at  m}' 
favorite  Club  (the  Senior  United  Service),  His  Grace  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  quite  contented  with  the  joint,  one-and-three, 
and  half-pint  of  sherry- wine,  nine  ;  and  if  his  Grace,  why  not 
3'ou  and  I? 

This  rule  I  have  made,  and  found  the  benefit  of.  Whenever 
I  ask  a  couple  of  Dukes  and  a  Marquis  or  so  to  dine  with  me, 
I  set  them  down  to  a  piece  of  beef,  or  a  leg-of-mutton  and 
trimmings.  The  grandees  thank  3^ou  for  this  simplicity,  and 
appreciate  the  same.  M}'  dear  Jones,  ask  an}^  of  those  whom 
3'ou  have  the  honor  of  knowing,  if  such  be  not  the  case. 

I  am  far  from  wishing  that  their  Graces  should  treat  me  in  a 
similar  fashion.  Splendor  is  a  part  of  their  station,  as  decent 
comfort  (let  us  trust) ,  of  yours  and  mine.  Fate  has  comfortabh' 
appointed  gold  plate  for  some,  and  has  bidden  others  content- 
edl}^  to  wear  the  willow-pattern.  And  being  peifectly  contented 
(indeed  humbl}^  thankful  —  for  look  around,  O  Jones,  and  see 
the  m3'riads  who  are  not  so  fortunate,)  to  wear  honest  linen, 
while  magnificos  of  the  world  are  adorned  with  cambric  and 
point-lace,  surel3^  we  ought  to  hold  as  miserable,  envious  fools, 
those  wretched  Beaux  Tibbs's  of  societ3%  w^ho  sport  a  lace 
dicky,  and  nothing  besides, — the  poor  silly  jays,  who  trail 
a  peacock's  feather  behind  them,  and  think  to  simulate  the 
gorgeous  bird  whose  nature  it  is  to  strut  on  palace-terraces, 
and  to  flaunt  his  magnificent  fan-tail  in  the  sunshine  ! 

The  ja3^s  with  peacocks'  feathers  are  the  Snobs  of  this  w^orld  : 
and  never,  since  the  days  of  ^Esop,  were  the3'  more  numerous 
in  an3'  land  than  the3"  are  at  present  in  this  free  countr3\ 

How  does  this  most  ancient  apologue  appl3'  to  the  subject  in 
hand  —  the  Dinner-o-ivino;  Snob.  The  imitation  of  the  oreat  is 
universal  in  this  city,  from  the  palaces  of  Kensingtonia  and 
Belgravia,  even  to  the  remotest  corner  of  Brunswick  Square. 
Peacocks'  feathers  are  stuck  in  the  tails  of  most  families. 
Scarce  one  of  us  domestic  birds  but  imitates  the  lankv,  pavo- 
nine strut,  and  shrill,  genteel  scream.  O  3^ou  misguided  dinner- 
giving  Snobs,  think  how  much  pleasure  you  lose,  and  how  much 
mischief  3^ou  do  with  3^our  absurd  grandeurs  and  hypocrisies  I 
You  stuff  each  other  with  unnatural  forced-meats,  and  entertain 
each  other  to  the  ruin  of  friendship  (let  alone  health)  and  the 


342 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


destruction  of  hospitality  and  good-fellowship  —  you,  who  but 
for  the  peacock's  tail  might  chatter  away  so  much  at  your  ease, 
and  be  so  jovial  and  happ}^ ! 

When  a  man  goes  into  a  great  set  compan}"  of  dinner-giving 
and  dinner-receiving  Snobs,  if  he  has  a  philosophical  turn  of 
mind,  he  will  consider  what  a  huge  humbug  the  whole  alfair 
is  :  the  dishes,  and  the  drink,  and  the  servants,  and  the  plate, 
and  the  host  and  hostess,  and  the  conversation,  and  the  corn- 
pan}^,  —  the  pliilosopher  included. 

The  host  is  smiling,  and  hob-nobbing,  and  talking  up  and 
down  the  table  ;  but  a  prey  to  secret  terrors  and  anxieties,  lest 
the  wines  he  has  brought  up  from  the  cellar  should  prove  insuffi- 
cient ;  lest  a  corked  bottle  should  destro}'  his  calculations  ;  or 
our  friend  the  carpet-beater,  by  making  some  hevue^  should  dis- 
close his  real  quality  of  greengrocer,  and  show  that  he  is  not 
the  family  butler. 

The  hostess  is  smiling  resolutely  through  all  the  courses, 
smiling  through  her  agou}^ ;  though  her  heart  is  in  the  kitchen, 
and  she  is  speculating  with  terror  lest  there  be  any  disaster 
there.  If  the  souffle  sliould  collapse,  or  if  Wiggins  does  not 
send  the  ices  in  time  —  she  feels  as  if  she  would  commit  suicide 
—  that  smiling,  jolly  woman  ! 

The  children  up  stairs  are  yelling,  as  their  maid  is  crimping 
their  miserable  ringlets  with  hot  tongs,  tearing  Miss  Emmy's 
hair  out  by  the  roots,  or  scrubbing  Miss  Polly's  dump}^  nose 
with  mottled  soap  till  the  little  wretch  screams  herself  into  fits. 
The  young  males  of  the  familj^  are  employed,  as  we  have  stated, 
in  piratical  exploits  upon  the  landing-place. 

The  servants  are  not  servants,  but  the  before-mentioned 
retail  tradesmen. 

The  plate  is  not  plate,  but  a  mere  shiny  Birmingham  lacquer ; 
and  so  is  the  hospitality,  and  everything  else. 

The  talk  is  Birmingham  talk.  The  wag  of  the  part}",  with 
bitterness  in  his  heart,  liaving  just  quitted  his  laundress,  who 
is  dunning  him  for  her  bill,  is  firing  off  good  stories  ;  and  the 
opposition  wag  is  furious  that  he  cannot  get  an  innings.  Jaw- 
kins,  the  great  conversationalist,  is  scornful  and  indignant  with 
the  pair  of  them,  because  he  is  kept  out  of  court.  Young 
Muscadel,  that  cheap  dandy,  is  talking  Fashion  and  Almack's 
out  of  the  Morninci  Post^  and  disgusting  his  neighbor,  Mrs. 
Fox,  who  reflects  that  she  has  never  been  there.  The  widow 
is  vexed  out  of  patience,  because  her  daughter  Maria  has  got  a 
place  beside  young  Cambric,  the  penniless  curate,  and  not  by 
Colonel  (t  old  more,  the  rich  widower  from  India.    The  Doctor's 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


343 


wife  is  sulk}^  because  she  lias  not  been  led  out  before  the  bar- 
rister's lady  ;  old  Doctor  Cork  is  grumbling  at  the  wine,  and 
Guttleton  sneering  at  the  cookery. 

And  to  think  that  all  these  people  might  be  so  happy,  and 
easy,  and  friendly,  were  they  brought  together  in  a  natural  un- 
pretentious way,  and  but  for  an  unhappy  passion  for  peacocks' 
feathers  in  England.  Gentle  shades  of  Marat  and  Robespierre  ! 
when  I  see  how  all  the  honest}^  of  society  is  corrupted  among 
us  by  the  miserable  fashion- worship,  I  feel  as  angr}^  as  Mrs. 
Fox  just  mentioned,  and  ready  to  order  a  general  battue  of 
peacocks. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOME  CONTINENTAL  SNOBS. 

Now  that  September  has  come,  and  all  our  Parliamentary 
duties  are  over,  perhaps  no  class  of  Snobs  are  in  such  high 
feather  as  the  Continental  Snobs.  I  watch  these  daily  as  they 
commence  their  migrations  from  the  beach  at  Folkestone.  I 
see  shoals  of  them  depart  (not  perhaps  without  an  innate  longing 
too  to  quit  the  Island  along  with  those  happj^  Snobs) .  Farewell, 
dear  friends,  I  say  :  3'ou  little  know  that  the  individual  who  re- 
gards you  from  the  beach  is  3'our  friend  and  historiographer 
and  brother. 

I  went  to-da}^  to  see  our  excellent  friend  Snooks,  on  board 
the  "  Queen  of  the  French  ;  "  many  scores  of  Snobs  were  there, 
on  the  deck  of»that  fine  ship,  marching  forth  in  their  pride  and 
bravery.  They  will  be  at  Ostend  in  four  hours  ;  they  will  in- 
undate the  Continent  next  week  ;  they  will  carr}'  into  far  lands 
the  famous  image  of  the  British  Snob.  I  shall  not  see  them  — 
but  am  with  them  in  spirit :  and  indeed  there  is  hardly  a  coun- 
try in  the  known  and  civilized  world  in  which  these  eyes  have 
not  beheld  them. 

I  have  seen  Snobs,  in  pink  coats  and  hunting-boots,  scouring 
over  the  Campagna  of  Rome  ;  and  have  heard  their  oaths  and 
their  well-known  slang  in  the  galleries  of  the  Vatican,  and  un- 
der the  shadowy  arches  of  the  Colosseum.  I  have  met  a  Snob 
on  a  dromedary  in  the  desert,  and  picnicking  under  the  Pyramid 
of  Cheops.  I  like  to  think  how  many  gallant  British  Snobs 
there  are,  at  this  minute  of  writing,  pushing  their  heads  out  of 
ever}^  window  in  the  court-yard  of  ''Meurice's"  in  the  Rue  de 


344 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Rivoli;  or  roaring  out,  "  Garsoiig,  du  pang,"  "  Garson,  du 
vang ; or  swaggering  down  the  Toledo  at  Naples  ;  or  even 
how  many  will  be  on  the  look-out  for  Snooks  on  Ostend  Pier,  — 
for  Snooks,  and  the  rest  of  the  Snobs  on  board  the     Queen  o 
the  French." 

Look  at  the  Marquis  of  Carabas  and  his  two  carriages.  My 
Lady  Marchioness  comes  on  board,  looks  round  with  that  happy 
air  of  mingled  terror  and  impertinence  which  distinguishes  her 
ladj^ship,  and  rushes  to  her  carriage,  for  it  is  impossible  that 
she  should  mingle  with  the  other  Snobs  on  deck.  There  she 
sits,  and  will  be  ill  in  private.  The  strawberry-leaves  on  her 
chariot-panels  are  engraved  on  her  lad3'ship's  heart.  If  she 
were  going  to  heaven  instead  of  to  Ostend,  I  rather  think 
she  would  expect  to  have  des  places  reserves  for  her,  and  would 
send  to  order  the  best  rooms.  A  courier,  with  his  monej-bag 
of  office  round  his  shoulders  —  a  huge  scowling  footman,  whose 
dark  pepper-and-salt  livery  glistens  with  the  heraldic  insignia 
of  the  Carabases  —  a  brazen-looking,  tawdry  French  femme-de- 
chamhre  (none  but  a  female  pen  can  do  justice  to  that  wonderful 
tawdry  toilette  of  the  lady's-maid  en  voyage)  — and  a  miserable 
dame  de  compagnie,  are  ministering  to  the  wants  of  her  ladyship 
and  her  King  Charles's  spaniel.  The}'  are  rushing  to  and  fro 
with  eau-de-Cologne,  pocket-handkerchiefs,  which  are  all  fringe 
and  cipher,  and  popping  mysterious  cushions  behind  and  before, 
and  in  every  available  corner  of  the  carriage. 

The  Httle  Marquis,  her  husband,  is  walking  about  the  deck 
in  a  bewildered  manner,  with  a  lean  daughter  on  each  arm  :  the 
carroty-tufted  hope  of  the  family  is  already  smoking  on  the 
foredeck  in  a  travelling  costume  checked  all  over,  and  in  little 
lacquer-tipped  jean  boots,  and  a  shirt  embroidered  with  pink 
boa-constrictors.  What  is  it  that  gives  travelling  Snobs  such 
a  marvellous  propensity  to  rush  into  a  costume?  Why  should  a 
man  not  travel  in  a  coat,  &c.  ?  but  think  proper  to  dress  himself 
like  a  harlequin  in  mourning?  See,  even  young  Aldermanbury, 
the  tallow-merchant,  who  has  just  stepped  on  board,  has  got  a 
travelling-dress  gaping  all  over  with  pockets  ;  and  little  Tom 
Tapeworm,  the  lawyer's  clerk  out  of  the  City,  who  has  but  three 
weeks'  leave,  turns  out  in  gaiters  and  a  bran-new  shooting- 
jacket,  and  must  let  the  moustaches  grow  on  his  little  snuffy 
upper  lip,  forsooth  ! 

Pompey  Ilicks  is  giving  elaborate  directions  to  his  servant, 
and  asking  loudly,  ''Davis,  where's  the  dwessing-case ? "  and 
"  Davis,  you'd  best  take  the  pistol-case  into  tlie  cabin."  Little 
Pompey  travels  with  a  dressing-case,  and  without  a  beard  :  whom 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


345 


he  is  going  to  shoot  with  his  pistols,  who  on  earth  can  tell  ?  and 
what  he  is  to  do  with  his  servant  but  wait  upon  him,  I  am  at  a 
loss  to  conjecture. 

Look  at  honest  Nathan  Houndsditch  and  his  lady,  and  their 
littla  son.  What  a  noble  air  of  blazing  contentment  illuminates 
the  features  of  those  Snobs  of  Eastern  race  !  What  a  toilette 
Houndsditch's  is  !  What  rings  and  chains,  what  gold-headed 
canes  and  diamonds,  what  a  tuft  the  rogue  has  got  to  his  chin 
(the  rogue  !  he  will  never  spare  himself  an}*  cheap  enjo3'ment!) 
Little  Houndsditch  has  a  little  cane  with  a  gilt  head  and  little 
mosaic  ornaments  —  altogether  an  extra  air.  As  for  the  lady, 
she  is  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  !  she  has  a  pink  parasol, 
with  a  white  lining,  and  a  3^ellow  bonnet,  and  an  emerald  green 
shawl,  and  a  shot-silk  pelisse  ;  and  drab  boots  and  rhubarb- 
colored  gloves  ;  and  party-colored  glass-buttons,  expanding  from 
the  size  of  a  fourpenn^^-piece  to  a  crown,  gUtter  and  twiddle  all 
down  the  front  of  her  gorgeous  costume.  I  have  said  before,  I 
like  to  look  at  the  Peoples  "  on  their  gala  days,  they  are  so 
picturesquely  and  outrageously  splendid  and  happy. 

Yonder  comes  Captain  Bull ;  spick  and  span,  tight  and  trim  ; 
who  travels  for  four  or  six  months  every  3'ear  of  his  life  ;  who 
does  not  commit  himself  by  luxury  of  raiment  or  insolence  of 
demeanor,  but  I  think  is  as  great  a  Snob  as  any  man  on  board. 
Bull  passes  the  season  in  London,  sponging  for  dinners,  and 
sleeping  in  a  garret  near  his  Club.  Abroad,  he  has  been  ever}'- 
where  ;  he  knows  the  best  wine  at  ever}"  inn  in  ever}'  capital  in 
Europe ;  lives  with  the  best  P^nglish  company-  there  ;  has  seen 
every  palace  and  picture-gallery  from  Madrid  to  Stockholm ; 
speaks  an  abominable  little  jargon  of  half  a  dozen  languages  — 
and  knows  nothing  —  nothing.  Bull  hunts  tufts  on  the  Con- 
tinent, and  is  a  sort  of  amateur  courier.  He  will  scrape  ac- 
quaintance with  old  Carabas  before  they  make  Ostend  ;  and 
will  remind  his  lordship  that  he  met  him  at  Vienna  twenty 
years  ago,  or  gave  him  a  glass  of  Schnapps  up  the  Righi.  We 
have  said  Bull  knows  nothing :  he  knows  the  birth,  arms,  and 
pedigree  of  all  the  peerage,  lias  poked  his  little  eyes  into  every 
one  of  the  carriages  on  board  —  their  panels  noted  and  their 
crests  surveyed  ;  he  knows  all  the  Continental  stories  of  English 
scandal — how  Count  Towrowski  ran  off  with  Miss  Baggs  at 
Naples  —  how  very  thick  Lady  Smigsmag  was  with  young 
Cornichon  of  the  French  Legation  at  Florence  —  the  exact 
amount  which  Jack  Deuceace  won  of  Bob  Greengoose  at  Baden 
—  what  it  is  that  made  the  Staggs  settle  on  the  Continent :  the 
sum  for  which  the  O'Goggarty  estates  are  mortgaged,  &c.  If 


346 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


he  can't  catch  a  lord  he  will  hook  on  to  a  baronet,  or  else  the 
old  wretch  will  catch  hold  of  some  beardless  young  stripling  of 
fashion,  and  show  him  life"  in  various  and  amiable  and  inac- 
cessible quarters.  Faugh  !  the  old  brute  !  If  he  has  ever}^  one 
of  the  vices  of  the  most  boisterous  youth,  at  least  he  is  com- 
forted b}^  having  no  conscience.  He  is  utterly  stupid,  but  of  a 
jovial  turn.  He  believes  himself  to  be  quite  a  respectable 
member  of  societ}^ :  but  perhaps  the  only  good  action  he  ever 
did  in  his  Hfe  is  the  involuntar}^  one  of  giving  an  example  to  be 
avoided,  and  showing  what  an  odious  thing  in  the  social  picture 
is  that  figure  of  the  debauched  old  man  who  passes  through  life 
rather  a  decorous  Silenus,  and  dies  some  da}^  in  his  garret, 
alone,  unrepenting,  and  unnoted,  save  by  his  astonished  heirs, 
who  find  that  the  dissolute  old  miser  has  left  money  behind 
him.  See !  he  is  up  to  old  Carabas  alread}^ !  I  told  you  he 
would. 

Yonder  you  see  the  old  Lady  Mary  MacScrew,  and  those  mid- 
dle-aged 3'oung  women  her  daughters  ;  the}^  are  going  to  cheapen 
and  haggle  in  Belgium  and  up  the  Rhine  until  they  meet  with  a 
boarding-house  where  they  can  live  upon  less  board-wages  than 
her  ladyship  pa^  s  her  footmen.  But  she  will  exact  and  receive 
considerable  respect  from  the  British  Snobs  located  in  the 
watering-place  which  she  selects  for  her  summer  residence, 
being  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Haggistoun.  That  broad- 
shouldered  buck,  with  the  great  whiskers  and  the  cleaned 
white  kid-gloves,  is  Mr.  Phelim  Clancy  of  Poldoodystown : 
he  calls  himself  Mr.  De  Clancy  ;  he  endeavors  to  disguise  his 
native  brogue  with  the  richest  superposition  of  English ;  and  if 
you  play  at  billiards  or  ecarte  with  him,  the  chances  are  that 
you  will  win  the  first  game,  and  he  the  seven  or  eight  games 
ensuing. 

That  overgrown  lad}^  with  the  four  daughters,  and  the  young 
dandy  from  the  University,  her  son,  is  Mrs.  Kewsy,  the  emi- 
nent barrister's  lady,  who  would  rather  die  than  not  be  in  the 
fashion.  She  has  the  Peerage"  in  her  carpet-bag,  you  may 
be  sure  ;  but  she  is  altogether  cut  out  by  Mrs.  Quod,  the  attor- 
ney's wife,  whose  carriage,  with  the  apparatus  of  rumbles, 
dickies,  and  imperials,  scarcely  yields  in  splendor  to  the 
Marquis  of  Carabas's  own  travelling-chariot,  and  whose  courier 
has  ev(in  bigger  whiskers  and  a  lai'ger  morocco  money-bag  than 
the  Marquis's  own  travellnig  gentleman.  Remark  her  well  : 
she  is  talking  to  Mr.  S[)out,  the  new  Member  for  Jawborough, 
who  is  going  out  to  inspect  tlie  operations  of  the  Zollverein, 
and  will  put  some  very  severe  questions  to  Lord  Palmerston 


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347 


next  session  upon  England  and  her  relations  with  the  Prussian- 
blue  trade,  the  Naples-soap  trade,  the  German-tinder  trade, 
&e.  Spout  will  patronize  King  Leopold  at  Brussels  ;  will  write 
letters  from  abroad  to  the  Jawhorougk  Independent ;  and  in  his 
quality  of  Member  da  Parliamong  Britanniqiie^  will  expect  to  be 
invited  to  a  family  dinner  with  everj^  sovereign  whose  dominions 
he  honors  with  a  visit  during  his  tour. 

The  next  person  is  —  but  hark  !  the  bell  for  shore  is  ringing, 
and,  shaking  Snooks's  hand  cordially,  we  rush  on  to  the  pier, 
waving  him  a  farewell  as  the  noble  black  ship  cuts  keenly 
through  the  sunn}'  azure  waters,  bearing  away  that  cargo  of 
Snobs  outward  bound. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

CONTINENTAL  SNOBBERY  CONTINUED. 

We  are  accustomed  to  laugh  at  the  French  for  their  brag- 
gadocio propensities,  and  intolerable  vanit}^  about  la  France, 
la  gloire,  I'Empereur,  and  the  like  ;  and  yet  I  think  in  my 
heart  that  the  British  Snob,  for  conceit  and  self-sufficienc}?" 
and  braggartism  in  his  way,  is  without  a  parallel.  There  is 
always  something  uneasy  in  a  Frenchman's  conceit.  He  brags 
with  so  much  fury,  shrieking,  and  gesticulation  ;  yells  out  so 
loudly  that  the  Fran^ais  is  at  the  head  of  civilization,  the  centre 
of  thought,  &c ;  that  one  can't  but  see  the  poor  fellow  has  a 
lurking  doubt  in  his  own  mind  that  he  is  not  the  wonder  he 
professes  to  be. 

About  the  British  Snob,  on  the  contrary,  there  is  commonly 
no  noise,  no  bluster,  but  the  calmness  of  profound  conviction. 
We  are  better  than  all  the  world  ;  we  don't  question  the  opinion 
at  all ;  it's  an  axiom.  And  when  a  Frenchman  bellows  out, 
"  La  France^  Monsieur^  la  France  est  a  la  tete  du  monde  civilise  !  " 
we  laugh  good-naturedly  at  the  frantic  poor  devil.  We  are  the 
first  chop  of  the  world  :  we  know  the  fact  so  well  in  our  secret 
hearts  that  a  claim  set  up  elsewhere  is  simply  ludicrous.  My 
dear  brother  reader,  saj' ,  as  a  man  of  honor,  if  you  are  not  of 
this  opinion?  Do  you  think  a  Frenchman  your  equal?  You 
don't  —  you  gallant  British  Snob  —  you  know  3^ou  don't:  no 
more,  perhaps,  does  the  Snob  your  humble  servant,  brother. 

And  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is  this  conviction,  and  the 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


consequent  bearing  of  the  Englishman  towards  the  foreigner 
whom  he  condescends  to  visit,  this  confidence  of  superiority 
which  holds  up  the  head  of  the  owner  of  ever}'  Enghsh  hat-box 
from  Sicil}'  to  St.  Petersburg,  that  makes  us  so  magnificently 
hated  throughout  Europe  as  we  are  ;  this  —  more  than  all  our 
little  victories,  and  of  which  many  Frenchmen  and  Spaniards 
have  never  heard  —  this  amazing  and  indomital)le  insular  pride, 
which  animates  ray  lord  in  his  travelling-carriage  as  well  as 
John  ill  the  rumble. 

If  you  read  the  old  Chronicles  of  the  French  wars,  you  find 
precisely  the  same  character  of  the  Englishman,  and  Henr}^  Y.'s 
people  behaved  with  just  the  cool  domineering  manner  of 
our  gallant  veterans  of  France  and  the  Peninsula.  Did  you 
never  hear  Colonel  Cutler  and  Major  Slasher  talking  over  the 
war  after  dinner?  or  Captain  Boarder  describing  his  action  with 
the  "  Indomptable?"  ''Hang  the  fellows,"  says  Boarder, 
"their  practice  was  very  good.  I  was  beat  oflf  three  times 
before  I  took  her."  "Cuss  those  carabineers  of  Milhaud's," 
sa3's  Slasher,  "what  work  they  made  of  our  light  cavalr}^  " 
implj'ing  a  sort  of  surprise  that  the  Frenchman  should  stand 
up  against  Britons  at  all :  a  good-natured  wonder  that  the 
blind,  mad,  vain-glorious,  brave  poor  devils  should  actualh^ 
have  the  courage  to  resist  an  Englishman.  Legions  of  such 
Englishmen  are  patronizing  Europe  at  this  moment,  being  kind 
to  the  Pope,  or  good-natured  to  the  King  of  Holland,  or  con- 
descending to  inspect  the  Prussian  reviews.  When  Nicholas 
came  here,  who  reviews  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  pairs  of  mous- 
taches to  his  breakfast  ever}'  morning,  we  took  him  off  to  Wind- 
sor and  showed  him  two  whole  regiments  of  six  or  eight 
hundred  Britons  apiece,  with  an  air  as  much  as  to  say,  — 
"  There,  my  bo}',  look  at  that.  Those  are  Englishmen^  those 
are,  and  3'our  master  whenever  3'ou  please,"  as  the  nurserj- 
song  sa3's.  The  British  Snob  is  long,  long  past  scepticism, 
and  can  afford  to  laugh  quite  good-humoredl3'  at  those  conceited 
Yankees,  or  besotted  little  Frenchmen,  who  set  up  as  models  of 
mankind.     They  forsooth  ! 

I  have  been  led  into  these  remarks  by  listening  to  an  old 
fellow  at  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  at  Boulogne,  and  who  is  evidentl3^ 
of  the  Slasher  sort.  He  came  down  and  seated  himself  at  the 
breakfast- table,  with  a  surly  scowl  on  liis  salmon-colored  blood- 
shot face,  strangling  in  a  tight,  cross-barred  cravat ;  his  linen 
and  his  appointmtmts  so  perfectly  stiff  and  spotless  that  ever3'- 
body  at  onc(i  recognized  him  as  a  dear  countryman.  Onl3'  our 
port- wine  and  other  admirable  institutions  could  have  produced 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


349 


a  figure  so  insolent,  so  stupid,  so  gentlemanlike.  After  a  while 
our  attention  was  called  to  him  by  his  roaring  out,  in  a  voice 
of  plethoric  fury,     O  !  " 

Ever3'body  turned  round  at  the  "  O,"  conceiving  the  Colonel 
to  be,  as  his  countenance  denoted  him,  in  intense  pain  ;  but  the 
waiters  knew  better,  and  instead  of  being  alarmed,  brought 
the  Colonel  the  kettle.  O,"  it  appears,  is  the  P^rench  for  hot 
water.  The  Colonel  (though  he  despises  it  heartily)  thinks  he 
speaks  the  language  remarkablj'  well.  Whilst  he  was  inhaust- 
ing  his  smoking  tea,  which  went  rolling  and  gurgling  down  his 
throat,  and  hissing  over  the  hot  coppers"  of  that  respectable 
veteran,  a  friend  joined  him,  with  a  wizened  face  and  very 
black  wig,  evidently  a  Colonel  too. 

The  two  warriors,  waggling  their  old  heads  at  each  other, 
presently  joined  breakfast,  and  fell  into  conversation,  and  we 
had  the  advantage  of  hearing  about  the  old  war,  and  some 
pleasant  conjectures  as  to  the  next,  which  they  considered  im- 
minent. They  psha'd  the  French  fleet ;  they  pooh-pooh'd  the 
French  commercial  marine  ;  they  showed  how,  in  a  war,  there 

would  be  a  cordon  ('^  v.  cordong,  b}^  ")  of  steamers  along 

our  coast,  and    b}'^  ready  at  a  minute  to  land  anywhere 

on  the  other  shore,  to  give  the  French  as  good  a  thrashing  as 
they  got  in  the  last  war,  b}"  In  fact,  a  rumbling  can- 
nonade of  oaths  was  fired  by  the  two  veterans  during  the  whole 
of  their  conversation. 

There  was  a  P'renchman  in  the  room,  but  as  he  had  not  been 
above  ten  3'ears  in  London,  of  course  he  did  not  speak  the 
language,  and  lost  the  benefit  of  the  conversation.  "But, 
O  my  countr}'!"  said  I  to  myself,  ''it's  no  wonder  that  you 
are  so  beloved  !  If  I  were  a  Frenchman,  how  I  would  hate 
you!" 

That  brutal,  ignorant,  peevish  bully  of  an  Englishman  is 
showing  himself  in  every  city  of  Europe.  One  of  the  dullest 
creatures,  under  heaven,  he  goes  trampling  Europe  under  foot, 
shouldering  his  way  into  galleries  and  cathedrals,  and  bustling 
into  palaces  with  his  buckram  uniform.  At  church  or  theatre, 
gala  or  picture-gallery^,  his  face  never  varies.  A  thousand  de- 
lightful sights  pass  before  his  bloodshot  eyes,  and  don't  aflfect 
him.  Countless  brilliant  scenes  of  life  and  manners  are  shown 
him,  but  never  move  him.  He  goes  to  church,  and  calls  the 
practices  there  degrading  and  superstitious  ;  as  if  his  altar  was 
the  only  one  that  was  acceptable.  He  goes  to  picture-galler- 
ies, and  is  more  ignorant  about  Art  than  a  French  shoeblack. 
Art,  Nature  pass,  and  there  is  no  dot  of  admiration  in  his 


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stupid  eyes  ;  nothing  moves  him,  except  when  a  very  great  man 
comes  his  wa}^  and  then  the  rigid,  proud,  self-confident,  inflexi- 
ble British  Snob  can  be  as  humble  as  a  flunky  and  as  supple 
as  a  harlequin. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ENGLISH  SNOBS  ON  THE  CONTINENT. 

"What  is  the  use  of  Lord  Rosse's  telescope  my  friend 
Panwiski  exclaimed  the  other  day.  It  only  enables  you  to  see 
a  few  hundred  thousands  of  miles  farther.  What  were  thought 
to  be  mere  nebulae,  turn  out  to  be  most  perceivable  starry  sys- 
tems ;  and  be3'ond  these,  you  see  other  nebulae,  which  a  more 
powerful  glass  will  show  to  be  stars,  again  ;  and  so  they  go  on 
glittering  and  winking  awa}^  into  eternit3\"  With  which  my 
friend  Pan,  heaving  a  great  sigh,  as  if  confessing  his  inabilitj'to 
look  Infinity  in  the  face,  sank  back  resigned,  and  swallowed 
a  large  bumper  of  claret. 

I  (who  like  other  great  men,  have  but  one  idea)  thought  to 
myself,  that  as  the  stars  are,  so  are  the  Snobs  :  —  the  more  you 
gaze  upon  those  luminaries,  the  more  3^ou  behold  —  now  nebu- 
lously^ congregated  —  now  faintly^  distinguishable  —  now  bright- 
I3'  defined  —  until  they  twinkle  off  in  endless  blazes,  and  fade 
into  the  immeasurable  darkness.  I  am  but  as  a  child  playing 
on  the  sea-shore.  Some  telescopic  philosopher  will  arise  one 
day,  some  great  Snobonomer,  to  find  the  laws  of  the  great 
science  which  we  are  now  merely  playing  with,  and  to  define, 
and  settle,  and  classify  that  which  is  at  present  but  vague  theory, 
and  loose  though  elegant  assertion. 

Yes  :  a  single  eye  can  but  trace  a  very  few  and  simple  varie- 
ties of  the  enormous  universe  of  Sno})s.  I  sometimes  think 
of  appealing  to  the  public,  and  calling  together  a  congress 
of  savans^  such  as  met  at  Southampton  —  each  to  bring  his 
contributions  and  read  his  paper  on  tlie  Great  Subject.  For 
what  can  a  single  poor  few  do,  even  with  the  subject  at  present 
in  hand?  English  Snobs  on  the  Continent — though  they  are 
a  hundred  thousand  times  less  numerous  than  on  their  native 
island,  yet  even  these  few  are  too  many.  One  can  only  fix  a 
stray  one  here  and  there.  The  individuals  are  caught  —  the 
thousands  escape.    1  have  noted  down  but  three  whom  I  have 


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351 


met  with  in  my  walk  this  morning  through  this  pleasant  marine 
cit}^  of  Boulogne. 

There  is  the  English  Raff  Snob,  that  frequents  estaminets 
and  cabarets;  who  is  heard  j^elling,  ''We  won't  go  home  till 
morning  !  "  and  startling  the  midnight  echoes  of  quiet  Continen- 
tal towns  with  shrieks  of  English  slang.  The  boozy  unshorn 
wretch  is  seen  hovering  round  qua3^s  as  packets  arrive,  and 
tippling  drams  in  inn  bars  where  he  gets  credit.  He  talks 
French  with  slang  familiarity  :  he  and  his  like  quite  people  the 
debt-prisons  on  the  Continent.  He  plays  pool  at  the  billiard- 
houses,  and  maj"  be  seen  engaged  at  cards  and  dominoes  of 
forenoons.  His  signature  is  to  be  seen  on  countless  bills  of 
exchange  :  it  belonged  to  an  honorable  family  once,  ver}^  likely  ; 
for  the  English  Raff  most  probably  began  by  being  a  gentleman, 
and  has  a  father  over  the  water  who  is  ashamed  to  hear  his 
name.  He  has  cheated  the  old  ''governor"  repeatedlj^  in 
better  daj^s,  and  swindled  his  sisters  of  their  portions,  and 
robbed  his  3'Ounger  brothers.  Now  he  is  living  on  his  wife's 
jointure  :  she  is  hidden  away  in  some  dismal  garret,  patching 
shabby  finer}^  and  cobbling  up  old  clothes  for  her  children  — 
the  most  miserable  and  slatternl}'  of  women. 

Or  sometimes  the  poor  woman  and  her  daughters  go  about 
timidly,  giving  lessons  in  English  and  music,  or  do  embroider}^ 
and  work  under-hand,  to  purchase  the  means  for  the  pot-au-feii ; 
while  Raff  is  swaggering  on  the  qua}',  or  tossing  off  glasses  of 
cognac  at  the  cafe.  The  unfortunate  creature  has  a  child  still 
every  year,  and  her  constant  hypocris}'  is  to  try  and  make  her 
girls  believe  that  their  father  is  a  respectable  man,  and  to  huddle 
him  out  of  the  way  when  the  brute  comes  home  drunk. 

Those  poor  ruined  souls  get  together  and  have  a  society  of 
their  own,  the  which  it  is  very  affecting  to  watch  —  those  tawdry 
pretences  at  gentilit}^  those  flimsy  attempts  at  gayety  :  those 
woful  sallies  :  that  jingling  old  piano  ;  oh,  it  makes  the  heart 
sick  to  see  and  hear  them.  As  Mrs.  Raff,  with  her  company 
of  pale  daughters,  gives  a  penny  tea  to  Mrs.  Diddler,  they  talk 
^  about  bygone  times  and  the  fine  society  they  kept ;  and*^  the}' 
sing  feeble  songs  out  of  tattered  old  music  books  ;  and  while 
engaged  in  this  sort  of  entertainment,  in  comes  Captain  Raff 
with  his  greasy  hat  on  one  side,  and  straightway  the  whole 
of  the  dismal  room  reeks  with  a  mingled  odor  of  smoke  and 
spirits. 

Has  not  everybody  who  has  lived  abroad  met  Captain  Raff? 
His  name  is  proclaimed,  every  now  and  then,  by  Mr.  Sheriifs 
Officer  Hemp  ;  and  about  Boulogne,  and  Paris,  and  Brussels, 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


there  are  so  many  of  his  sort  that  I  will  lay  a  wager  that  I  shall 
be  accused  of  gross  personality  for  showing  him  up.  Man}'  a 
less  irreclaimable  villain  is  transported  ;  many  a  more  honorable 
man  is  at  present  at  the  treadmill ;  and  although  we  are  the 
noblest,  greatest,  most  religious,  and  most  moral  people  in  the 
world,  I  would  still  like  to  know  where,  except  in  the  United 
Kingdom,  debts  are  a  matter  of  joke,  and  making  tradesmen 
"suffer"  a  sport  that  gentlemen  own  to?  It  is  dishonorable 
to  owe  mone}'  in  France.  You  never  hear  people  in  other  parts 
of  Europe  brag  of  their  swindling ;  or  see  a  prison  in  a  large 
Continental  town  which  is  not  more  or  less  peopled  with  Eng- 
lish rogues. 

A  still  more  loathsome  and  dangerous  Snob  than  the  above 
transparent  and  passive  scamp,  is  frequent  on  the  continent  of 
Europe,  and  my  young  Snob  friends  who  are  travelling  thither 
should  be  especially  warned  against  him.  Captain  Legg  is  a 
gentleman,  like  Raff,  though  perhaps  of  a  better  degree.  He 
has  robbed  his  famil}^  too,  but  of  a  great  deal  more,  and  has 
boldl}'  dishonored  bills  for  thousands,  where  Raff  has  been 
boggling  over  the  clumsy  conveyance  of  a  ten-pound  note. 
Legg  is  always  at  the  best  inn,  with  the  finest  waistcoats  and 
moustaches,  or  tearing  about  in  the  flashiest  of  britzkas,  while 
poor  Raff  is  tipsifj'ing  himself  with  spirits,  and  smoking  cheap 
tobacco.  It  is  amazing  to  think  that  Legg,  so  often  shown  up, 
and  known  everywhere,  is  flourishing  yet.  He  would  sink  into 
utter  ruin,  but  for  the  constant  and  ardent  love  of  gentilit}' 
that  distinguishes  the  English  Snob.  There  is  many  a  young 
fellow  of  the  middle  classes  who  must  know  Leofof  to  be  a  ro^fue 
and  a  cheat ;  and  yet  from  his  desire  to  be  in  the  fashion,  and 
his  admiration  of  tip-top  swells,  and  from  his  ambition  to  air 
himself  b}'  the  side  of  a  Lord's  son,  will  let  Legg  make  an  in- 
come out  of  him  ;  content  to  pay,  so  long  as  he  can  enjo}'  that 
society.  Many  a  worthy  father  of  a  family,  when  he  hears 
that  his  son  is  riding  about  with  Captain  Legg,  Lord  Levant's 
son,  is  rather  pleased  that  young  Hopeful  should  be  in  such 
good  compan3\ 

Legg  and  his  friend.  Major  Macer,  make  professional  tours 
through  Europe,  and  are  to  be  found  at  the  right  places  at  the 
right  time.  Last  3'ear  I  heard  how  my  young  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Mutt*,  from  Oxford,  going  to  see  a  little  life  at  a  Carnival 
ball  at  Paris,  was  accosted  by  an  Englishman  who  did  not 

know  a  word  of  the  d  language,  and  hearing  Muff  speak 

it  so  admirably,  begged  liini  to  interpret  to  a  waiter  with  whom 
there;  was  a  (lispnte  about  i-efreshments.    It  was  quite  a  com- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


353 


fort,  the  stranger  said,  to  see  an  honest  English  face  ;  and  did 
Muff  know  where  there  was  a  good  place  for  supper?  So  those 
two  went  to  supper,  and  who  should  come  in,  of  all  men  in  tlie 
world,  but  Major  Macer?  And  so  Legg  introduced  Macer,  and 
so  there  came  on  a  little  intimac}^  and  three-card  loo,  &c.  &c. 
Year  after  year  scores  of  Muffs,  in  various  places  in  the  woi'ld, 
are  victimized  by  Legg  and  Macer.  The  story  is  so  stale,  the 
trick  of  seduction  so  entirely  old  and  clumsy,  that  it  is  only  a 
wonder  people  can  be  taken  in  any  more  :  but  the  temptations 
of  vice  and  gentilit}^  together  are  too  much  for  3'oung  English 
8nobs,  and  those  simple  young  victims  are  caught  fresh  every 
day.  Though  it  is  only  to  be  kicked  and  cheated  by  men  of 
fashion,  3^our  true  British  Snob  will  present  himself  for  the 
honor. 

I  need  not  allude  here  to  that  very  common  British  Snob, 
who  makes  desperate  efforts  at  becoming  intimate  with  the 
great  Continental  aristocrac}^  such  as  old  Rolls,  the  baker,  who 
has  set  up  his  quarters  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain,  and 
will  receive  none  but  Carlists,  and  no  French  gentleman  under 
the  rank  of  a  Marquis.  We  can  all  of  us  laugh  at  that  fellow's 
pretensions  well  enough  —  we  who  tremble  before  a  great  man 
of  our  own  nation.  But,  as  you  say,  my  brave  and  honest 
John  Bull  of  a  Snob,  a  French  Marquis  of  twent}'  descents  is 
very  different  from  an  English  Peer ;  and  a  pack  of  beggarl}^ 
German  and  Italian  Fuersten  and  Principi  awaken  the  scorn  of 
an  honest-minded  Briton.  But  our  aristocracy  !  —  that's  a  very 
different  matter.  They  are  the  real  leaders  of  the  world  —  the 
real  old  original  and-no-mistake  nobilit3^  Off  with  your  cap, 
Snob  ;  down  on  3^our  knees,  Snob,  and  truckle. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

ON  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

Tired  of  the  town,  where  the  sight  of  the  closed  shutters  of 
the  nol)ilit3^  my  friends,  makes  m}^  heart  sick  in  my  walks ; 
afraid  almost  to  sit  in  those  vast  Pall  Mall  solitudes,  the  Clubs, 
and  of  annoying  the  Club  waiters,  who  might,  I  thought,  be 
going  to  shoot  in  the  country,  but  for  me,  I  determined  on  a 
brief  tour  in  the  provinces,  and  paying  some  visits  in  the 
countr}'  which  were  long  due. 


354: 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Mj  first  visit  was  to  my  friend  Major  Ponto  (H.P.  of  the 
Horse  Marines),  in  Mangel wurzelshire.  The  Major,  in  his 
little  phaeton,  was  in  waiting  to  take  me  up  at  the  station. 
The  vehicle  was  not  certainl}^  splendid,  but  such  a  carriage  as 
would  accommodate  a  plain  man  (as  Ponto  said  he  was)  and  a 
numerous  family.  We  drove  by  beautiful  fresh  fields  and  green 
hedges,  through  a  cheerful  English  landscape  ;  the  high-road, 
as  smooth  and  trim  as  the  wa}^  in  a  nobleman's  park,  was 
charmingly  chequered  with  cool  shade  and  golden  sunshine. 
Rustics  in  snow}"  smock-frocks  jerked  their  hats  off  smiling  as 
we  passed.  Children,  with  cheeks  as  red  as  the  apples  in  the 
orchards,  bobbed  curtsies  to  us  at  the  cottage-doors.  Blue 
church  spires  rose  here  and  there  in  the  distance  :  and  as  the 
buxom  gardener's  wife  opened  the  white  gate  at  the  Major's 
little  iv3"-covered  lodge,  and  we  drove  through  the  neat  planta- 
tions of  firs  and  evergreens,  up  to  the  house,  my  bosom  felt  a 
joy  and  elation  which  I  thought  it  was  impossible  to  experience 
in  the  smoky  atmosphere  of  a  town.  Here,"  I  mentally  ex- 
claimed, "is  all  peace,  plenty,  happiness.  Here,  I  shall  be 
rid  of  Snobs.  There  can  be  none  in  this  charming  Arcadian 
spot." 

Stripes,  the  Major's  man  (formerly  corporal  in  his  gallant 
corps),  received  my  portmanteau,  and  an  elegant  little  present, 
which  I  had  brought  from  town  as  a  peace-offering  to  Mrs. 
Ponto  ;  viz.,  a  cod  and. oysters  from  Grove's,  in  a  hamper  about 
the  size  of  a  coffin. 

Ponto's  house  (''The  Evergreens"  Mrs.  P.  has  christened 
it)  is  a  perfect  Paradise  of  a  place.  It  is  all  over  creepers, 
and  bow- windows,  and  verandas.  A  wav}'  lawn  tumbles  up 
and  down  all  round  it,  with  flower-beds  of  wonderful  shapes,  and 
zigzag  gravel  walks,  and  beautiful  but  damp  shrubberies  of 
myrtles  and  glistening  laurestines,  which  have  procured  it  its 
change  of  name.  It  was  called  Little  Bullock's  Pound  in  old 
Doctor  Ponto's  time.  I  had  a  view  of  the  pretty  grounds,  and 
the  stable,  and  the  adjoining  village  and  church,  and  a  great 
park  beyond,  from  the  windows  of  the  bedroom  whither  Ponto 
conducted  me.  It  was  the  yellow  bedroom,  the  freshest  and 
pleasantest  of  bedchambers  ;  the  air  was  fragrant  with  a  large 
bouquet  that  was  placed  on  the  writing-table  ;  the  linen  was 
fragrant  with  the  lavender  in  which  it  had  been  laid  ;  the  chintz 
hangings  of  the  bed  and  the  big  sofa  were,  if  not  fragrant  with 
flowers,  at  least  painted  all  over  with  th(^m  ;  the  penwiper  on 
the  table  was  the  imitation  of  a  double  dahlia  ;  and  there  was 
acconnnodation  for  my  watch  in  a  sunflower  on  the  mantel-piece. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


355 


A  scarlet-leafed  creeper  came  curling  over  the  windows,  through 
which  the  setting  sun  was  pouring  a  flood  of  golden  light.  It 
was  all  flowers  and  freshness.  Oh,  how  unlike  those  black 
chimnej'-pots  in  St.  Alban's  Place,  London,  on  which  these 
weary  eyes  are  accustomed  to  look. 

It  must  be  all  happiness  here,  Ponto,"  said  I,  flinging  m}'- 
self  down  into  the  snug  hergere^  and  inhaling  such  a  delicious 
draught  of  country  air  as  all  the  millejleurs  of  Mr.  Atkinson^s 
shop  cannot  impart  to  any  the  most  expensive  pocket-handker- 
chief. 

"Nice  place,  isn't  it?"  said  Ponto.  "Quiet  and  unpre- 
tending. I  like  everything  quiet.  You've  not  brought  your 
valet  with  you  ?  Stripes  will  arrange  your  dressing  things  ; " 
and  that  functionary,  entering  at  the  same  time,  proceeded  to 
gut  my  portmanteau,  and  to  lay  out  the  black  kerseymeres, 
"the  rich  cut  velvet  Genoa  waistcoat,"  the  white  choker,  and 
other  polite  articles  of  evening  costume,  with  great  gravity  and 
despatch.  "  A  great  dinner-part}^"  thinks  I  to  myself,  seeing 
these  preparations  (and  not,  perhaps,  displeased  at  the  idea 
that  some  of  the  best  people  in  tiie  neighborhood  were  coming 
to  see  me).  "Hark,  there's  the  first  bell  ringing!"  said 
Ponto,  moving  away  ;  and,  in  fact,  a  clamorous  harbinger  of 
victuals  began  clanging  from  the  stable  turret,  and  announced 
the  agreeable  fact  that  dinner  would  appear  in  half  an  hour. 
"If  the  dinner  is  as  grand  as  the  dinner-bell,"  thought  I, 
"faith,  I'm  in  good  quarters!"  and  had  leisure,  during  the 
half-hour's  interval,  not  onl}'  to  advance  my  own  person  to  the 
utmost  polish  of  elegance  which  it  is  capable  of  receiving,  to 
admire  the  pedigree  of  the  Pontos  hanging  over  the  chimne}^ 
and  the  Ponto  crest  and  arms  emblazoned  on  the  wash-hand 
basin  and  jug,  but  to  make  a  thousand  reflections  on  the  hap- 
piness of  a  countr}'  life  —  upon  the  innocent  friendliness  and 
cordialit}'  of  rustic  intercourse  ;  and  to  sigh  for  an  opportunity 
of  retiring,  like  Ponto,  to  my  own  fields,  to  my  own  vine  and 
fig-tree,  with  a  placens  uxor  in  my  domus,  and  a  half-score  of 
sweet  young  pledges  of  affection  sporting  round  my  paternal 
knee. 

Clang  !  At  the  end  of  the  thirty  minutes,  dinner-bell  number 
two  pealed  from  the  adjacent  turret.  I  hastened  down  stairs, 
expecting  to  find  a  score  of  healthy  country  folks  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. There  was  only  one  person  there  ;  a  tall  and  Roman- 
nosed  lady,  glistering  over  with  bugles,  in  deep  mourning.  She 
rose,  advanced  two  steps,  made  a  majestic  curtsy,  during 
which  all  the  bugles  in  her  awful  head-dress  began  to  twiddle 


356 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


and  quiver  —  and  then  said,  Mr.  Snob,  we  are  very  happy  to 
see  you  at  the  Evergreens,'*  and  heaved  a  great  sigh. 

This,  then,  was  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  ;  to  whom  making  my 
very  best  bow,  I  rephed,  that  I  was  wery  proud  to  make  her 
acquaintance,  as  also  that  of  so  charming  a  place  as  the 
Evergreens. 

Another  sigh.  We  are  distantly  related,  Mr.  Snob," 
said  she,  shaking  her  melanchol}^  head.  ''Poor  dear  Lord 
Rubadub !  " 

''Oh!"  said  I;  not  knowing  what  the  deuce  Mrs.  Major 
Ponto  meant. 

' '  Major  Ponto  told  me  that  you  were  of  the  Leicestershire 
Snobs :  a  very  old  family,  and  related  to  Lord  Snobbington, 
who  married  Laura  Rubadub,  who  is  a  cousin  of  mine,  as  was 
her  poor  dear  father,  for  whom  we  are  mourning.  What  a 
seizure  I  only  sixty-three,  and  apoplexy  quite  unknown  until 
now  in  our  family !  In  life  we  are  in  death,  Mr.  Snob.  Does 
Lady  Snobbington  bear  the  deprivation  well?" 

"  Wh}^,  really,  ma'am,  I  —  I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  more 
and  more  confused. 

As  she  was  speaking  I  heard  a  sort  of  cloop^  by  which  well- 
known  sound  I  w^as  aware  that  somebody  was  opening  a  bottle 
of  wine,  and  Ponto  entered,  in  a  huge  white  neck-cloth,  and  a 
rather  shabby  black  suit. 

"My  love,"  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  said  to  her  husband,  "we 
were  talking  of  our  cousin  —  poor  dear  Lord  Rubadub.  His 
death  has  placed  some  of  the  first  families  in  England  in  mourn- 
ing. Does  Lad}'  Rubadub  keep  the  house  in  Hill  Street,  do 
you  know  ?  " 

I  didn't  know,  but  I  said,  "  I  believe  she  does,"  at  a  venture  ; 
and,  looking  down  to  the  drawing-room  table,  saw  the  inevita- 
ble, abominable,  maniacal,  absurd,  disgusting  '•  Peerage  "  open 
on  the  table,  interleaved  with  annotations,  and  open  at  the 
article  "  Snobbington." 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  says  Stripes,  flinging  open  the  door; 
and  I  gave  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  m}'  arm. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


357 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

Of  the  dinner  to  which  we  now  sat  down,  I  am  not  going  to 
be  a  severe  critic.  The  mahogany  I  hold  to  be  inviolable  ;  but 
this  I  will  say,  that  I  prefer  sherry  to  marsala  when  I  can  get 
it,  and  the  latter  was  the  wine  of  which  I  have  no  doubt  I  heard 
the  cloop  "  just  before  dinner.  Nor  was  it  particularly  good 
of  its  kind  ;  however,  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  did  not  evidently  know 
the  difference,  for  she  called  the  liquor  Amontillado  during  the 
whole  of  the  repast,  and  drank  but  half  a  glass  of  it,  leaving 
the  rest  for  the  Major  and  bis  guest. 

Stripes  was  in  the  livery  of  the  Ponto  family  —  a  thought 
shabby,  but  gorgeous  in  the  extreme  —  lots  of  magnificent 
worsted  lace,  and  livery  buttons  of  a  very  notable  size.  The 
honest  fellow's  hands,  I  remarked,  w^ere  very  large  and  black  ; 
and  a  fine  odor  of  the  stable  was  wafted  about  the  room  as  he 
moved  to  and  fro  in  his  ministration.  I  should  have  preferred 
a  clean  maid-servant,  but  the  sensations  of  Londoners  are  too 
acute  perhaps  on  these  subjects  ;  and  a  faithful  John,  after  all, 
is  more  genteel. 

From  the  circumstance  of  the  dinner  being  composed  of 
pig's-head  mock-turtle  soup,  of  pig's  fry  and  roast  ribs  of  pork, 
I  am  led  to  imagine  that  one  of  Ponto's  black  Hampshires  had 
been  sacrificed  a  short  time  previous  to  my  visit.  It  was  an 
excellent  and  comfortable  repast ;  only  there  was  rather  a 
sameness  in  it,  certainly.  I  made  a  similar  remark  the  next 
day. 

During  the  dinner  Mrs.  Ponto  asked  me  many  questions  re- 
garding the  nobilit}',  my  relatives.  ''When  Lady  Angelina 
Skeggs  would  come  out ;  and  if  the  countess  her  mamma " 
(this  was  said  with  much  arcliness  and  he-he-ing)  "  still  wore 
that  extraordinar}^  purple  hair-dye?"  Whether  my  Lord 
Guttlebur}^  kept,  besides  his  French  chef,  and  an  English 
cordon-bleu  for  the  roasts,  an  Italian  for  the  confectionery?" 
"Who  attended  at  Lady  Clapperclaw^'s  conversazioni?"  and 
''whether  Sir  John  Champignon's  '  Thursday  Mornings '  were 
pleasant?"  "Was  it  true  that  Lady  Carabas,  wanting  to 
pawn  her  diamonds,  found  that  they  w^ere  paste,  and  that  the 
Marquis  had  disposed  of  them  beforehand?"    "How  was  it 


S58 


THE  BOOK  OF  SISTOBS. 


that  Snuffin,  the  great  tobacco-merchant,  broke  off  the  mar- 
riage which  was  on  the  tapis  between  him  and  their  second 
daughter ;  and  was  it  true  that  a  mulatto  lady  came  over  from 
the  Havana  and  forbade  the  match?" 

Upon  m}^  word,  Madam,"  I  had  begun,  and  was  going  on 
to  sa}^  that  I  didn't  know  one  word  about  all  these  matters 
which  seemed  so  to  interest  Mrs.  Major  Ponto,  when  the 
Major,  giving  me  a  tread  or  stamp  with  his  large  foot  under 
the  table,  said  — 

'*Come,  come,  Snob  my  bo}',  we  are  all  tiled,  3^ou  know. 
We  know  you're  one  of  the  fashionable  people  about  town  :  we 
saw  3^our  name  at  Lad}^  Clapperclaw's  soirees^  and  the  Cham- 
pignon breakfasts  ;  and  as  for  the  Rubadubs,  of  course,  as 
relations  —  " 

''Oh,  of  course,  I  dine  there  twice  a- week,"  I  said;  and 
then  I  remembered  that  my  cousin,  Humplny  Snob,  of  the 
Middle  Temple,  is  a  great  frequenter  of  genteel  societies,  and 
to  have  seen  his  name  in  the  Morning  Post  at  the  tag-end  of 
several  party  lists.  So,  taking  the  hint,  I  am  ashamed  to  sa^" 
I  indulged  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  with  a  deal  of  information  about 
the  first  famiUes  in  England,  such  as  would  astonish  those 
great  personages  if  they  knew  it.  I  described  to  her  most  accu- 
rately the  three  reigning  beauties  of  last  season  at  Almack's  : 

told  her  in  confidence  that  his  Grace  the  D  of  W  was 

going  to  be  married  the  day  after  his  Statue  was  put  up  ;  that 

his  Grace  the  D          of  D         was  also  about  to  lead  the 

fourth  daughter  of  the  Archduke  Stephen  to  the  hymeneal  altar  : 
—  and  talked  to  her,  in  a  word,  just  in  the  style  of  Mrs.  Gore's 
last  fashionable  novel. 

Mrs.  Major  was  quite  fascinated  by  this  brilliant  conversa- 
tion. She  l3egan  to  trot  out  scraps  of  French,  just  for  all  the 
world  as  they  do  in  the  novels  ;  and  kissed  her  hand  to  me 
quite  graciously,  telUng  me  to  come  soon  to  cafl^^',  ung  pu  de  Mu- 
sick  0  salomj  —  with  which  she  tripped  off  like  an  elderly  fair}'. 

Shall  I  open  a  bottle  of  port,  or  do  you  ever  drink  such  a 
thing  as  Hollands  and  water?"  says  Ponto,  looking  ruefully  at 
me.  This  was  a  Axuy  different  style  of  thing  to  what  I  had 
been  led  to  expect  from  him  at  our  smoking-room  at  the  Club  : 
where  he  swaggers  about  his  horses  and  his  cellar  :  and  slapping  • 
me  on  the  shoulder  used  to  say,  ''  Come  down  to  IMangelwur- 
zelshire,  Snob  my  boy,  and  Fll  give  you  as  good  a  day's  shoot- 
ing Jtnd  as  good  a  glnss  of  claret  as  any  in  the  county."  — 
''Well,"  I  said,  "I  Hked  Hollands  much  better  than  port, 
and  gin  even  better  than  Hollands."     This  was  luck3\  It 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


359 


was  gin  ;  and  Stripes  brought  in  hot  water  on  a  splendid  plated 
tray. 

The  jingling  of  a  harp  and  piano  soon  announced  that  Mrs. 
Ponto's  ung  pu  de  Mustek  had  commenced,  and  the  smell  of  the 
stable  again  entering  the  dining-room,  in  the  person  of  Stripes, 
summoned  us  to  cajf?/  and  the  little  concert.  She  beckoned 
me  with  a  winning  smile  to  the  sofa,  on  which  she  made  room 
for  me,  and  where  we  could  command  a  fine  view  of  the  backs 
of  the  young  ladies  who  were  performing  the  musical  entertain- 
ment. Ver}'  broad  backs  they  were  too,  strictl}'  according  to 
the  present  mode,  for  crinoline  or  its  substitutes  is  not  an  ex- 
pensive luxur}',  and  3'oung  people  in  the  countr}^  can  afford  to 
be  in  the  fashion  at  very  trifling  charges.  Miss  Emily  Ponto 
at  the  piano,  and  her  sister  Maria  at  that  somewhat  exploded 
instrument,  the  harp,  were  in  light  blue  dresses  that  looked  all 
flounce,  and  spread  out  like  Mr.  Green's  balloon  when  inflated. 

"Brilliant  touch  Emily  has  —  what  a  fine  arm  Maria's  is," 
Mrs.  Ponto  remarked  good-naturedl3%  pointing  out  the  merits 
of  her  daughters,  and  waving  her  own  arm  in  such  a  way  as  to 
show  that  she  was  not  a  little  satisfied  with  the  beaut}^  of  that 
member.  I  observed  she  had  about  nine  bracelets  and  bangles, 
consisting  of  chains  and  padlocks,  the  Major's  miniature,  and 
a  variety  of  brass  serpents  with  fiery  ruby  or  tender  turquoise 
e3"es,  writhing  up  to  her  elbow  almost,  in  the  most  profuse 
contortions. 

"  You  recognize  those  polkas  ?  They  were  played  at  Devon- 
shire House  on  the  23rd  of  Jul}',  the  da}'  of  the  grand  fete." 
So  I  said  yes  —  I  knew  'em  quite  intimately  ;  and  began  wag- 
ging my  head  as  if  in  acknowledgment  of  those  old  friends. 

When  the  performance  was  concluded,  I  had  the  felicit}'  of 
a  presentation  and  conversation  with  the  two  tall  and  scraggy 
Miss  Pontos  ;  and  Miss  Wirt,  the  governess,  sat  down  to  en- 
tertain us  with  variations  on  Sich  a  gettin'  up  Stairs."  They 
were  determined  to  be  in  the  fashion. 

For  the  performance  of  the  "  Gettin'  up  Stairs,"  I  have  no 
other  name  but  that  it  was  a  stunner.  First  Miss  Wirt,  with 
great  deliberation,  played  the  original  and  beautiful  melody, 
cutting  it,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  instrument  and  firing  off  each 
note  so  loud,  clear,  and  sharp,  that  I  am  sure  Stripes  must 
have  heard  it  in  the  stable. 

"What  a  finger!"  sa^'s  Mrs.  Ponto;  and  indeed  it  teas  a 
finger,  as  knotted  as  a  turkey's  drumstick,  and  splaying  all 
over  the  piano.  When  she  had  banged  out  the  tune  slowly, 
she  began  a  different  manner  of  "  Gettin'  up  Stairs,"  and  did 


360 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


so  with  a  fury  and  swiftness  quite  incredible.  She  spun  up 
stairs ;  she  whirled  up  stairs ;  she  galloped  up  stairs ;  she 
rattled  up  stairs  ;  and  then  having  got  the  tune  to  the  top 
landing,  as  it  were,  she  hurled  it  down  again  shrieking  to  the 
bottom  floor,  where  it  sank  in  a  crash  as  if  exhausted  b}'  the 
breathless  rapidity  of  the  descent.  Then  IVIiss  Wirt  plaj^ed 
the  ''Gettin'  up  Stairs"  with  the  most  pathetic  and  ravishing 
solemnity :  plaintive  moans  and  sobs  issued  from  the  keys  — 
3'ou  wept  and  trembled  as  you  were  gettin'  up  stairs.  Miss 
Wirt's  hands  seemed  to  faint  and  wail  and  die  in  variations  : 
again,  and  she  went  up  with  a  savage  clang  and  rush  of  trumpets, 
as  if  Miss  Wirt  was  storming  a  breach  ;  and  although  I  knew 
nothhig  of  music,  as  I  sat  and  listened  with  m}'  mouth  open  to 
this  wonderful  display,  my  caffy  grew  cold,  and  I  wondered  the 
windows  did  not  crack  and  the  chandelier  start  out  of  the  beam 
at  the  sound  of  this  earthquake  of  a  piece  of  music. 

''Glorious  creature!  Isn't  she?"  said  Mrs.  Ponto. 
"  Squirtz's  favorite  pupil  —  inestimable  to  have  such  a  creature. 
Lad}'  Carabas  would  give  her  eyes  for  her !  A  prodigj'  of 
accomplishments  !  Thank  3^ou,  Miss  Wirt'!  "  —  and  the  young 
ladies  gave  a  heave  and  a  gasp  of  admiration  —  a  deep-breath- 
ing gushing  sound,  such  as  you  hear  at  church  when  the  sermon 
comes  to  a  full  stop. 

Miss  Wirt  put  her  two  great  double-knuckled  hands  round  a 
waist  of  her  two  pupils,  and  said,  ''  M}'  dear  children,  I  hope 
you  will  be  able  to  play  it  soon  as  well  as  j'our  poor  little 
governess.  When  I  lived  with  the  Dunsinanes,  it  was  the 
dear  Duchess's  favorite,  and  Lady  Barbara  and  Lady  Jane 
McBeth  learned  it.  It  was  while  hearing  Jane  play  that,  I  re- 
member, that  dear  Lord  Castletoddy  first  fell  in  love  with  her? 
and  though  he  is  but  an  Irish  Peer,  with  not  more  than  fifteen 
thousand  a  year,  I  persuaded  Jane  to  have  him.  Do  you  know 
Castletoddy,  Mr.  Snob  ?  —  round  towers  —  sweet  place  — County 
Mayo.  Old  Lord  Castletoddy  (the  present  Lord  was  then 
Lord  Inishowan)  was  a  most  eccentric  old  man — thej^  sa}'  he 
was  mad.  I  heard  his  Royal  Highness  the  poor  dear  Duke  of 
Sussex — {such  a  man,  my  dears,  but  alas  !  addicted  to  smok- 
ing!)—  I  heard  his  Royal  Highness  say  to  the  Marquis  of 
Angiesea,  '  I  am  sure  Castletoddy  is  mad  ! '  but  Inishowan 
wasn't  in  marrying  my  sweet  Jane,  though  the  dear  child  had 
but  her  ten  thousand  pounds  pour  tout  potcu/e  !  " 

Most  invaluable  person,"  whispered  ]\L's.  Major  Ponto  to 
me.  "Has  lived  in  the  ver\^  highest  so(;iety  :  "  and  I,  who 
have  ))een  accustomed  to  see  governesses  bullied  in  the  world, 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


361 


was  delighted  to  find  this  one  ruling  the  roast,  and  to  think 
that  even  the  majestic  Mrs.  Fonto  bent  before  her. 

As  for  my  pipe,  so  to  speak,  it  went  out  at  once.  I  hadn't 
a  word  to  say  against  a  woman  who  was  intimate  with  ever}' 
Duchess  in  the  Red  Book.  She  wasn't  the  rosebud,  but  she 
had  been  near  it.  She  had  rubbed  shoulders  with  the  great, 
and  about  these  we  talked  all  the  evening  incessantly,  and  about 
the  fashions,  and  about  the  Court,  until  bedtime  came. 

''And  are  there  Snobs  in  this  El3^sium?"  I  exclaimed, 
jumping  into  the  lavender-perfumed  bed.  Ponto's  snoring 
boomed  from  the  neighboring  bedroom  in  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ON  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

Something  like  a  journal  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Ever- 
greens may  be  interesting  to  those  foreign  readers  of  Punch  who 
want  to  know  the  customs  of  an  English  gentleman's  famil}'  and 
household.  There's  plent}'  of  time  to  keep  the  Journal.  Piano- 
strumming  begins  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  it  lasts  till 
breakfast,  with  but  a  minute's  intermission,  when  the  instru- 
ment changes  hands,  and  Miss  Emily  practises  in  place  of  her 
sister  Miss  Maria. 

In  fact,  the  confounded  instrument  never  stops  :  when  the 
young  ladies  are  at  their  lessons,  Miss  Wirt  hammers  away  at 
those  stunning  variations,  and  keeps  her  magnificent  finger  in 
exercise. 

I  asked  this  great  creature  in  what  other  branches  of  educa- 
tion she  instructed  her  pupils?  The  modern  languages,"  sa^'s 
she  modestl}^ :  French,  German,  Spanish,  and  Italian,  Latin 
and  the  rudiments  of  Greek  if  desired.  English  of  course  :  the 
practice  of  Elocution,  Geograph}',  and  Astronomy,  and  the  Use 
of  the  Globes,  Algebra  (but  only  as  far  as  quadratic  equations)  : 
for  a  poor  ignorant  female,  you  know,  Mr.  Snob,  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  know  everything.  Ancient  and  Modern  Histor}'  no 
3'oung  woman  can  be  without ;  and  of  these  I  make  my  beloved 
pupils  perfect  mistresses.  Botan}',  Geology,  and  Mineralog}', 
I  consider  as  amusements.  And  with  these  I  assure  you  we 
manage  to  pass  the  da^'s  at  the  Evergreens  not  unpleasantl}'." 


362 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Only  these,  thought  I  —  what  an  education  !  But  I  looked 
in  one  of  Miss  Ponto's  manuscript  song-books  and  found  five 
faults  of  French  in  four  words  :  and  in  a  waggish  mood  asking 
Miss  Wirt  whether  Dante  Algiery  was  so-called  because  he  was 
born  at  Algiers,  received  a  smiling  answer  in  the  affirmative, 
which  made  me  rather  doubt  about  the  accuracy  of  Miss  Wirt's 
knowledge. 

When  the  above  little  morning  occupations  are  concluded, 
these  unfortunate  3'oung  women  perform  what  they  call  Calis- 
thenic  Exercises  in  the  garden.  I  saw  them  to-da}',  without 
any  crinoline,  pulling  the  garden-roller. 

Dear  Mrs.  Ponto  was  in  the  garden  too,  and  as  limp  as  her 
daughters  ;  in  a  faded  bandeau  of  hair,  in  a  battered  bonnet, 
in  a  holland  pinafore,  in  pattens,  on  a  broken  chair,  snipping 
leaves  off  a  vine.  Mrs.  Ponto  measures  many  yards  about  in 
an  evening.  Ye  heavens  !  what  a  gu}'  she  is  in  that  skeleton 
morning-costume  ! 

Besides  Stripes,  they  keep  a  boy  called  Thomas  or  Tummus. 
Tummus  works  in  the  garden  or  about  the  pigsty  and  stable ; 
Thomas  wears  a  page's  costume  of  eruptive  buttons. 

When  anybody  calls,  and  Stripes  is  out  of  the  way,  Tum- 
mus flings  himself  like  mad  into  Thomas's  clothes,  and  comes 
out  metamorphosed  like  Harlequin  in  the  pantomime.  To-day, 
as  Mrs.  P.  was  cutting  the  grape-vine,  as  the  young  ladies  were 
at  the  roller,  down  comes  Tummus  like  a  roaring  whirlwind, 
with  "  Missus,  Missus,  there's  company  coomin' ! "  Away  skurry 
the  ,young  ladies  from  the  roller,  down  comes  Mrs.  P.  from  the 
old  chair,  off  flies  Tummus  to  change  his  clothes,  and  in  an  in- 
credibly short  space  of  time  Sir  John  Hawbuck,  my  Lady  Haw- 
buck, and  Master  Hugh  Hawbuck  are  introduced  into  the 
garden  with  brazen  effrontery  by  Thomas,  who  says,  ''Please 
Sir  Jan  and  my  Lady  to  walk  this  year  wa}^ :  I  know  Missus  is 
in  the  rose-garden." 

And  there,  sure  enough,  she  was  ! 

In  a  pmtty  little  garden  bonnet,  with  beautiful  curling  ring- 
lets, with  the  smartest  of  aprons  and  the  freshest  of  pearl- 
colorod  gloves,  tliis  amazing  woman  was  in  the  arms  of  her 
dearest  Lady  Hawbuck.  "  Dearest  Lady  ILawbuck,  how  good 
of  you  !  Always  among  my  flowers  !  can't  live  away  from 
them  !  " 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet !  hum  —  a-ha  —  haw  !  "  says  Sir  John 
Hawbuck,  who  piques  himself  on  his  gallantry,  and  satys  noth- 
ing without     a-huni  — a-ha  —  a-haw  !  " 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


363 


"  Whereth  j^w  pinnafaw? "  cries  Master  Hugh.  We  thaw 
you  in  it,  over  the  wall,  didn't  we.  Pa?  " 

''Hum  —  a-ha — a-haw  !  "  burst  out  Sir  John,  dreadfull}^ 
alarmed.  "  Where's  Ponto?  Why  wasn't  he  at  Quarter  Ses- 
sions? How  are  his  birds  this  3'ear,  Mrs.  Ponto  —  have  those 
Carabas  pheasants  done  any  harm  to  your  wheat?  a-hum  —  a- 
ha  —  a-haw  !  "  and  all  this  while  he  was  making  the  most  fero- 
cious and  desperate  signals  to  his  youthful  heir. 

"Well,  she  wath  in  her  pinnafaw,  wathn't  she.  Ma?"  says 
Hugh,  quite  unabashed  ;  which  question  Lady  Hawbuck  turned 
away  with  a  sudden  query  regarding  her  dear  darling  daughters, 
and  the  enfant  terrible  was  removed  by  his  father. 

"I  hope  3'ou  weren't  disturbed  by  the  music?"  Ponto 
says.  "  M}^  girls,  you  know,  practise  four  hours  a  day,  you 
know  —  must  do  it,  3'Ou  know  —  absolutely  necessary.  As  for 
me,  you  know  I'm  an  earl}^  man,  and  in  my  farm  every  morning 
at  five  —  no,  no  laziness  for  me." 

The  facts  are  these.  Ponto  goes  to  sleep  directlj'  after 
dinner  on  entering  the  drawing-room,  and  wakes  up  when  the 
ladies  leave  off  practice  at  ten.  From  seven  till  ten,  and  from 
ten  till  five,  is  a  very  fair  allowance  of  slumber  for  a  man  who 
sa^^s  he's  not  a  laz}^  man.  It  is  my  private  opinion  that  when 
Ponto  retires  to  what  is  called  his  "  Study,"  he  sleeps  too.  He 
locks  himself  up  there  daily  two  hours  with  the  newspaper. 

I  saw  the  Hawbuck  scene  out  of  the  Stud}' ,  which  commands 
the  garden.  It's  a  curious  object,  that  Stud3\  Ponto's  library 
mostly  consists  of  boots.  He  and  Stripes  have  important  inter- 
views here  of  mornings,  when  the  potatoes  are  discussed,  or  the 
fate  of  the  calf  ordained,  or  sentence  passed  on  the  pig,  &c.  All 
the  Major's  bills  are  docketed  on  the  Study  table  and  displayed 
like  a  lawyer's  briefs.  Here,  too,  lie  displa3'ed  his  hooks, 
knives,  and  other  gardening  irons,  his  whistles,  and  strings  of 
spare  buttons.  He  has  a  drawer  of  endless  brown  paper  for 
parcels,  and  another  containing  a  prodigious  and  never-failing 
supply  of  string.  What  a  man  can  want  with  so  man}'  gig- 
whips  I  can  never  conceive.  These,  and  fishing-rods,  and 
landing-nets,  and  spurs,  and  boot-trees,  and  balls  for  horses, 
and  surgical  implements  for  the  same,  and  favorite  pots  of  shiny 
blacking,  with  which  he  paints  his  own  shoes  in  the  most  ele- 
gant manner,  and  buckskin  gloves  stretched  out  on  their  trees, 
and  his  gorget,  sash,  and  sabre  of  the  Horse  Marines,  with  his 
boot-hooks  underneath  in  a  trophy  ;  and  the  famil}'  medicine- 


364 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


chest,  and  in  a  corner  the  very  rod  with  which  he  used  to  whip 
his  son,  Wellesley  Ponto,  when  a  boy  ( Wellesley  never  entered 
the  ''Study"  but  for  that  awful  purpose) — all  these,  with 
'' Mogg's  Road  Book/'  the  Gardeners'  Chronicle^  and  a  back- 
gammon-board, form  the  Major's  library.  Under  the  trophy 
there's  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Ponto,  in  a  light  blue  dress  and  train, 
and  no  waist,  when  she  was  first  married  ;  a  fox's  brush  lies 
over  the  frame,  and  serves  to  keep  the  dust  off  that  work 
of  art. 

''  My  library's  small,"  says  Ponto,  with  the  most  amazing 
impudence,  "  but  well  selected,  my  boy  —  well  selected.  I  have 
been  reading  the  '  History  of  England '  all  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

We  had  the  fish,  which,  as  the  kind  reader  may  remember, 
I  had  brought  down  in  a  delicate  attention  to  Mrs.  Ponto,  to 
variegate  the  repast  of  next  day  ;  and  cod  and  oyster-sauce, 
twice  laid,  salt  cod  and  scalloped  oysters,  formed  parts  of  the 
bill  of  fare  until  I  began  to  fanc}'  that  the  Ponto  famil}^,  like 
our  late  revered  monarch  George  II.,  had  a  fancy  for  stale 
fish.  And  about  this  time,  the  pig  being  consumed,  we  began 
upon  a  sheep i 

But  how  shall  I  forget  the  solemn  splendor  of  a  second 
course,  which  was  served  up  in  great  state  by  Stripes  in  a 
silver  dish  and  cover,  a  napkin  twisted  round  his  dirt}'  thumbs  ; 
and  consisted  of  a  landrail,  not  much  bigger  than  a  corpulent 
sparrow. 

M}^  love,  will  you  take  any  game?"  sa3's  Ponto,  with  pro- 
digious gravit}' ;  and  stuck  his  fork  into  that  little  mouthful  of 
an  island  in  the  silver  sea.  Stripes,  too,  at  intervals,  dribbled 
out  the  Marsala  with  a  solemnity  which  would  have  done  honor 
to  a  Duke's  butler.  The  l)armecidc's  dinner  to  Shacabac  was 
onl}^  one  degree  removed  from  these  sokiinu  banquets. 

As  there  were  plenty  of  pretty  country  places  close  by  ;  a 
comfortable  country  town,  with  good  houses  of  gcMitlefolks  ;  a 
beautiful  old  parsonage,  close  to  the  church  whither  we  went 
(and  where  the  Carabas  family  have  their  ancestral  carved  and 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


365 


monumented  Gothic  pew),  and  every  appearance  of  good  so- 
ciety in  the  neighborhood,  I  rather  wondered  we  were  not 
enlivened  by  the  appearance  of  some  of  the  neighbors  at  the 
Evergreens,  and  asked  about  them. 

"  We  can't  in  our  position  of  life  —  we  can't  well  associate 
with  the  attorney's  famil}^  as  I  leave  you  to  suppose,"  said 
Mrs.  Ponto,  confidentially.  "  Of  course  not,"  I  answered, 
though  I  didn't  know  why.    "  And  the  Doctor?"  said  I. 

A  most  excellent  worthy  creature,"  says  Mrs.  P.  ;  saved 
Maria's  life  —  really  a  learned  man  ;  but  what  can  one  do  in 
one's  position  ?  One  ma}^  ask  one's  medical  man  to  one's  table 
certainly  :  but  his  famil}',  my  dear  Mr.  Snob  !  " 

''Half  a  dozen  little  gallipots,"  interposed  Miss  Wirt,  the 
governess:  ''he,  he,  he!"  and  the  young  ladies  laughed  in 
chorus. 

''We  onl}^  live  with  the  count}'  families,"  Miss  Wirt*  con- 
tinued, tossing  up  her  head.  "The  Duke  is  abroad:  we  are 
at  feud  with  the  Carabases  ;  the  Ringwoods  don't  come  down 
till  Christmas  :  in  fact,  nobodj^'s  here  till  the  hunting-season 
—  positively  nobody." 

"  Whose  is  the  large  red  house  just  outside  of  the  town?  " 

"  What !  the  chateau  calicotf  he,  he,  he  !  That  purse-proud 
ex-linendraper,  Mr.  Yardle}',  with  the  3^ellow  liveries,  and  the 
wife  in  red  velvet?  How  caji  yon^  my  dear  Mr.  Snob,  be  so 
satirical?  The  impertinence  of  those  people  is  really  some- 
thing quit^  overwhelming." 

"Well,  then,  there  is  the  parson.  Doctor  Chrysostom. 
He's  a  gentleman,  at  an}"  rate." 

At  this  Mrs.  Ponto  looked  at  Miss  Wirt.  After  their  eyes 
had  met  and  they  had  wagged  their  heads  at  each  other,  they 
looked  up  to  the  ceiling.  So  did  the  young  ladies.  They 
thrilled.  It  was  evident  I  had  said  something  very  terrible. 
Another  black  sheep  in  the  Church?  thought  I,  with  a  little 
sorrow ;  for  I  don't  care  to  own  that  I  have  a  respect  for  the 
cloth.    "I  —  I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong?  " 

*  I  have  since  heard  that  this  aristocratic  lady's  father  was  a  livery- 
button-maker  in  St.  Martin's  Lane :  where  he  met  witli  misfortunes,  and 
his  daughter  acquired  her  taste  for  lieraldry.  But  it  may  be  told  to  her 
credit,  that  out  of  her  earnings  she  has  kept  the  bedridden  old  bankrupt 
in  great  comfort  and  secrecy  at  Pentonville  ;  and  furnished  her  brother's 
outfit  for  the  Cadetship  which  her  patron,  Lord  Swigglebiggle,  gave  her 
when  he  was  at  the  Board  of  Control.  I  have  this  information  from  a 
friend.  To  hear  Miss  Wirt  herself,  you  would  fancy  that  her  Papa  was  a 
Rothschild,  and  that  the  markets  of  Europe  were  convulsed  when  he  went 
into  the  Gazette. 


366 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


"  Wrong?''  says  Mrs.  P.,  clasping  her  hands  with  a  tragic 

air. 

"Oh!"  says  Miss  Wirt,  and  the  two  girls,  gasping  in 
chorus. 

"Well,"  saj^s  I,  "I'm  very  sorry  for  it.  I  never  saw  a 
nicer-looking  old  gentleman,  or  a  better  school,  or  heard  a 
better  sermon." 

"  He  used  to  preach  those  sermons  in  a  surplice,"  hissed  out 
Mrs.  Ponto.    "  He's  a  Pusejite,  Mr.  Snob." 

"  Heavenly  powers  !  "  says  I,  admiring  the  pure  ardor  of 
these  female  theologians  ;  and  Stripes  came  in  with  the  tea. 
It's  so  weak  that  no  wonder  Ponto's  sleep  isn't  disturbed 
by  it. 

Of  mornings  we  used  to  go  out  shooting.  We  had  Ponto's 
own  fields  to  sport  over  (where  we  got  the  fieldfare),  and  the 
non-preserved  part  of  the  Hawbuck  propert}^ :  and  one  evening 
in  a  stubble  of  Ponto's  skirting  the  Carabas  woods,  we  got 
among  some  pheasants,  and  had  some  real  sport.  I  shot  a 
hen,  I  know,  greatly  to  my  delight.  "Bag  it,"  says  Ponto, 
in  rather  a  hurried  manner:  "here's  somebody  coming."  So 
I  pocketed  the  bird. 

"  You  infernal  poaching  thieves  !  "  roars  out  a  man  from  the 
hedge  in  the  garb  of  a  gamekeeper.  "  I  wish  I  could  catch 
you  on  this  side  of  the  hedge.  I'd  put  a  brace  of  barrels  into 
you,  that  I  would."  ^ 

''Curse  that  Snapper,"  says  Ponto,  moving  oflT;  "he's 
always  watching  me  like  a  sp3\" 

"  Carr}^  off  the  birds,  you  sneaks,  and  sell  'era  in  London," 
roars  the  individual,  who  it  appears  was  a  keeper  of  Lord 
Carabas.    "  You'll  get  six  shillings  a  brace  for  'em." 

"  Tou  know  the  price  of  'em  well  enough,  and  so  does  your 
master  too,  you  scoundrel,"  says  Ponto,  still  retreating. 

"  We  kills  'em  on  our  ground,"  cries  Mr.  Snapper.  "  We 
don't  set  traps  for  other  people's  birds.  We're  no  decoy  ducks. 
We're  no  sneaking  poachers.  We  don't  shoot  'ens,  hke  that 
'ere  Cockney,  who's  got  the  tail  of  one  a-sticking  out  of  his 
pocket.    Onl}'  just  come  across  the  hedge,  that's  all." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  says  Stripes,  v/ho  was  out  with  us  as 
keeper  this  day,  (in  fact  he's  keepei^,  coachman,  gardener, 
valet,  and  bailiff,  with  Tummus  under  him,)  \f  you'll  come 
across,  John  Snapper,  and  take  your  coat  off,  I'd  give  you  such 
a  whopping  as  you've  never  had  since  the  last  time  I  did  it  at 
Guttlebury  Fair." 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


367 


Whop  one  of  your  own  weight,"  Mr.  Snapper  said,  whis- 
tling his  dogs,  and  disappearing  into  tlie  wood.  And  so  we 
came  out  of  this  controvers}^  rather  victoriously ;  but  I  began 
to  alter  my  preconceived  ideas  of  rural  felicity. 


.    CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ON    SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

"  Be  hanged  to  3^our  aristocrats  !  "  Ponto  said,  in  some  con- 
versation we  had  regarding  the  family  at  Carabas,  between 
whom  and  the  Evergreens  there  was  a  feud.  When  I  first 
came  into  the  county  —  it  was  the  year  before  Sir  John  Buff 
contested  in  the  Blue  interest  —  the  Marquis,  then  Lord  St. 
Michaels,  who,  of  course,  was  Orange  to  the  core,  paid  me  and 
Mrs.  Ponto  such  attentions,  that  I  fairl}'  confess  I  was  taken 
in  by  the  old  humbug,  and  thought  that  I'd  met  with  a  rare 
neiglibor.  'Gad,  Sir,  we  used  to  get  pines  from  Carabas,  and 
pheasants  from  Carabas,  and  it  was  — '  Ponto,  when  will  you 
come  over  and  shoot?'  —  and — 'Ponto,  our  pheasants  want 
thinning,' —  and  my  Lady  would  insist  upon  her  dear  Mrs. 
Ponto  coming  over  to  Carabas  to  sleep,  and  put  me  I  don't  know 
to  what  expense  for  turbans  and  velvet  gowns  for  my  wife's  toi- 
lette. Well,  sir,  the  election  takes  place,  and  though  I  was 
always  a  Liberal,  personal  friendship  of  course  induces  me  to 
plump  for  St.  Michaels,  who  comes  in  at  the  head  of  the  poll. 
Next  year,  Mrs.  P.  insists  upon  going  to  town  —  with  lodgings  in 
Clarges  Street  at  ten  pounds  a  week,  with  a  hired  brougham,  and 
new  dresses  for  herself  and  the  girls,  and  the  deuce  and  all  to  pa}'. 
Our  first  cards  w^ere  to  Carabas  House  ;  niy  Lady's  are  returned 
by  a  great  big  flunky  :  and  I  leave  3'ou  to  ianc}'  my  poor  Bets^^'s 
discomfiture  as  the  lodging-house  maid  took  in  the  cards,  and 
Lady  St.  Michaels  drives  aw^ay,  though  she  actuall}'  saw  us  at 
the  drawing-room  window.  Would  you  believe  it.  Sir,  that 
though  we  called  four  times  afterwards,  those  infernal  aristo- 
crats never  returned  our  visit ;  that  though  Lady  St.  Michaels 
gave  nine  dinner-parties  and  four  dejeuners  that  season,  she 
never  asked  us  to  one  ;  and  that  she  cut  us  dead  at  the  Opera, 
though  Betsy  was  nodding  to  her  the  whole  night  ?  We  wrote 
to  her  for  tickets  for  Almack's  ;  she  w^rites  to  say  that  all  hers 
were  promised;  and  said,  in  the  presence  of  Wiggins,  her 


368 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Iad3^*s-maid,  who  told  it  to  Diggs,  my  wife's  woman,  that  she 
couldn't  conceive  how  people  in  our  station  of  life  could  so  far 
forget  themselves  as  to  wish  to  appear  in  any  such  place  !  Go 
to  Castle  Carahas  !  I'd  sooner  die  than  set  m}'  foot  in  the  house 
of  that  impertinent,  insolvent,  insolent  jackanapes  —  and  I 
hold  him  in  scorn  !  "  After  this,  Ponto  gave  me  some  private 
information  regarding  Lord  Carabas's  pecuniary  affairs  ;  how 
he  owed  money  all  over  the  count}^ ;  how  Jukes,  the  carpenter, 
was  utterly  ruined  and  couldn't  get  a  shilling  of  his  bill ;  how 
Biggs,  the  butcher,  hanged  himself  for  the  same  reason ;  how 
the  six  big  footmen  never  received  a  guinea  of  wages,  and 
Snaffle,  the  state  coachman,  actually  took  off*  his  blown-glass 
wig  of  ceremony  and  flung  it  at  Lady  Carabas's  feet  on  the 
terrace  before  the  Castle  ;  all  which  stories,  as  they  are  private, 
I  do  not  think  proper  to  divulge.  But  these  details  did  not 
stifle  my  desire  to  see  the  famous  mansion  of  Castle  Carabas, 
nay,  possibl}'  excited  my  interest  to  know  more  about  that 
lordl}'  house  and  its  owners. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  park,  there  are  a  pair  of  great  gaunt 
mildewed  lodges  —  mouldy  Doric  temples  with  black  chimnej'- 
pots,  in  the  finest  classic  taste,  and  the  gates  of  course  are  sur- 
mounted b}'  the  chats  bottes^  the  well-known  supporters  of  the 
Carabas  family.  "Give  the  lodge-keeper  a  shilling,"  says 
Ponto,  (who  drove  me  near  to  it  in  his  four-wheeled  crueltj;- 
chaise) .  ' '  I  warrant  it's  the  first  piece  of  ready  money  he  has 
received  for  some  time."  I  don't  know  whether  there  was  an}' 
foundation  for  this  sneer,  but  the  gratuit}^  was  received  with 
a  curtsy,  and  the  gate  opened  for  me  to  enter.  "Poor  old 
porteress  !  "  says  I,  inwardly.  "  You  little  know  that  it  is  the 
Historian  of  Snobs  whom  you  let  in  !  "  The  gates  were  passed. 
A  damp  green  stretch  of  park  spread  right  and  left  immeasura- 
bly, confined  by  a  chilly  gray  wall,  and  a  damp  long  straight 
road  between  two  huge  rows  of  moist,  dismal  lime-trees,  leads 
up  to  the  Castle.  In  the  midst  of  the  park  is  a  great  black 
tank  or  lake,  bristling  over  with  rushes,  and  here  and  there 
covered  over  with  patches  of  pea-soup.  A  shabby  temple  rises 
on  an  island  in  this  delectable  lake,  which  is  ai)proached  by  a 
rotten  barge  that  lies  at  roost  in  a  dilapidat(Hl  boat-house. 
Clumps  of  elms  and  oaks  dot  over  the  huge  green  flat.  Every 
one  of  them  would  have  been  down  long  since,  but  that  the 
Marquis  is  not  allowed  to  cut  the  timber. 

Up  that  long  avenue  the  Snobographor  walked  in  solitude. 
At  the  seventy-ninth  tree  on  the  left-hand  side,  the  insolvent 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


369 


butcher  hanged  himself.  I  scarcely  wondered  at  the  dismal 
deed,  so  woful  and  sad  were  the  impressions  connected  with 
tlie  place.  80,  for  a  mile  and  a  half  I  walked  —  alone  and 
thinking  of  death. 

I  forgot  to  sa}^  the  house  is  in  full  view  all  the  way  —  except 
when  intercepted  by  the  trees  on  the  miserable  island  in  the 
lake  —  an  enormous  red-brick  mansion,  square,  vast,  and 
ding}'.  It  is  flanked  by  four  stone  towers  with  weathercocks. 
In  the  midst  of  the  grand  fagade  is  a  huge  Ionic  portico, 
approached  by  a  vast,  lonely,  ghastly  staircase.  Rows  of 
black  windows,  framed  in  stone,  stretch  on  either  side,  right 
and  left  —  three  stories  and  eighteen  windows  of  a  row.  You 
may  see  a  picture  of  the  palace  and  staircase,  in  the  ''Views 
of  England  and  Wales,"  with  four  carved  and  gilt  carriages 
waiting  at  the  gravel  walk,  and  several  parties  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  wigs  and  hoops,  dotting  the  fatiguing  lines  of  the 
stairs. 

But  these  stairs  are  made  in  great  houses  for  people  not  to 
ascend.  The  first  Lady  Carabas  (the}'  are  but  eighty  years  in 
the  peerage),  if  she  got  out  of  her  gilt  coach  in  a  shower,  would 
be  wet  to  the  skin  before  she  got  half-way  to  the  carved  Ionic 
portico,  where  four  dreary  statues  of  Peace,  Plenty,  Piet}'  and 
Patriotism,  are  the  only  sentinels.  You  enter  these  palaces  by 
back-doors.  ''  That  was  the  way  the  Carabases  got  their  peer- 
age," the  misanthropic  Ponto  said  after  dinner. 

Well  —  I  rang  the  bell  at  a  little  low  side-door  ;  it  clanged 
and  jingled  and  echoed  for  a  long,  long  while,  till  at  length  a 
face,  as  of  a  housekeeper,  peered  through  the  door,  and,  as  she 
saw  my  hand  in  my  waistcoat  pocket,  opened  it.  Unhappy, 
lonely  housekeeper,  I  thought.  Is  Miss  Crusoe  in  her  island 
more  sohtary?  The  door  clapped  to,  and  I  was  in  Castle 
Carabas. 

''  The  side  entrance  and  All,"  says  the  housekeeper.  "  The 
halligator  hover  the  mantel-piece  was  brought  home  by  Had- 
niiral  St.  Michaels,  when  a  Capting  with  Lord  Hanson.  The 
harms  on  the  cheers  is  the  harms  of  the  Carabas  familv."  The 
hall  was  rather  comfortable.  We  went  clapping  up  a  clean 
stone  backstair,  and  then  into  a  back  passage  cheerfully  deco- 
rated with  ragged  light-green  Kidderminster,  and  issued  upon 

"  THE  GREAT  ALL. 

"  The  great  all  is  seventy-two  feet  in  lenth,  fifty-six  in 
breath,  and  thirty-eight  feet  'igh.  The  carvings  of  the  chim- 
lies,  representing  the  buth  of  Venus,  and  Ercules,  and  Eyelash, 

24 


870 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


is  by  Van  Chislum,  the  most  famous  sculpture  of  his  hage 
and  country.  The  ceiUng,  b}'  Calimanco,  represents  Painting, 
Harchitecture  and  Music  (the  naked  female  figure  with  the 
barrel  horgan)  introducing  George,  fust  Lord  Carabas  to  the 
Temple  of  the  Muses.  The  winder  ornaments  is  by  Vander- 
putt}'.  The  floor  is  Patagonian  marble  ;  and  the  chandelier  in 
the  centre  was  presented  to  Lionel,  second  Marquis,  b}^  Lewy 
the  Sixteenth,  whose  'ead  was  cut  hoff  in  the  French  Revelation. 
We  now  henter 

"the  south  gallery. 

"  One  'undred  and  fort3'-eight  in  lenth  by  thirty-two  in  breath  ; 
it  is  profusely  hornaminted  by  the  choicest  works  of  Hart.  Sir 
Andrew  Katz,  founder  of  the  Carabas  famil}-  and  banker  of  the 
Prince  of  Horange,  Kneller.  Her  present  Ladyship,  b}^  Law- 
rence. Lord  St.  Michaels,  by  the  same  —  he  is  represented 
sittin'  on  a  rock  in  velvit  pantaloons.  Moses  in  the  bullrushes 
—  the  bull  ver}'  fine,  by  Paul  Potter.  The  toilet  of  Venus, 
Fantaski.  Flemish  Bores  drinking,  Van  Ginnums.  Jupiter 
and  Europia,  de  Horn.  The  Grandj unction  Canal,  Venis,  by 
Candleetty  ;  and  Italian  Bandix,  b}'  Slavata  Rosa."  —  And  so 
this  worthy  woman  went  on,  from  one  room  into  another,  from 
the  blue  room  to  the  green,  and  tlie  green  to  the  grand  saloon, 
and  the  grand  saloon  to  the  tapestry  closet,  cackling  her  list 
of  pictures  and  wonders  :  and  furtivel}^  turning  up  a  corner  of 
brown  holland  to  show  the  color  of  the  old,  faded,  seedy, 
mouldy,  dismal  hangings. 

At  last  we  came  to  her  Ladyship's  bedroom.  In  the  centre 
of  this  drear}'  apartment  there  is  a  bed  about  the  size  of  one  of 
those  whizgig  temples  in  which  the  Genius  appears  in  a  panto- 
mime. The  huge  gilt  edifice  is  approached  by  steps,  and  so  tall, 
that  it  miglit  be  let  off  in  floors,  for  sleeping- rooms  for  all  the 
Carabas  famil}'.  An  awful  bed  !  A  murder  might  be  done  at 
one  end  of  that  bed,  and  people  sleeping  at  the  other  end  be 
ignorant  of  it.  Gracious  powers!  fancy  little  Lord  Carabas  in 
a  nightcap  ascending  those  steps  after  putting  out  the  candle  ! 

The  sight  of  that  seedy  and  solitary  splendor  was  too  much 
for  me.  1  should  go  mad  were  I  that  lonely  houscOvceper  —  in 
those  enormous  galleries  —  in  that  lonely  library,  filled  up  with 
ghastly  folios  that  nobody  dares  read,  with  an  inkstand  on  the 
centre  table  like  the  coflln  of  a  baby,  and  sad  portraits  staring 
at  you  from  the  bleak  walls  with  their  solenni  mouldy  eyes. 
No  wonder  that  (Jarabas  does  not  come  down  here  often.  It 
would  require  two  thousand  footmen  to  make  the  place  cheeTful, 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


371 


No  wonder  the  coachman  resigned  his  wig,  that  the  masters 
are  insolvent,  and  the  servants  perish  in  this  huge  dreaiy  out- 
at-elbow  place. 

A  single  family  has  no  more  right  to  build  itself  a  temple  of 
that  sort  than  to  erect  a  tower  of  Babel.  Such  a  habitation  is 
not  decent  for  a  mere  mortal  man.  But,  after  all,  I  suppose 
poor  Carabas  had  no  choice.  Fate  put  him  there  as  it  sent 
Napoleon  to  St.  Helena.  Suppose  it  had  been  decreed  b}^ 
Nature  that  you  and  1  should  be  Marquises?  We  wouldn't 
refuse,  I  suppose,  but  take  Ca&tle  Carabas  and  all,  with  debts, 
duns,  and  mean  makeshifts,  and  shabb}^  pride,  and  swindling 
magnificence. 

Next  season,  when  I  read  of  Lady  Carabas's  splendid  enter- 
tainments in  the  Morninrf  Post^  and  see  the  poor  old  insolvent 
cantering  through  the  Park  —  1  shall  have  a  much  tenderer 
interest  in  these  great  people  than  I  have  had  heretofore. 
Poor  old  shabbv  Snob  !  Ride  on  and  fancy  the  world  is  still 
on  its  knees  before  the  house  of  Carabas  !  Give  3^ourself  airs, 
poor  old  bankrupt  Magnifico,  who  are  under  money-obligations 
to  your  flunkies  ;  and  must  stoop  so  as  to  swindle  poor  trades- 
men !  And  for  us,  O  my  brother  Snobs,  oughtn't  we  to  feel 
happy  if  our  walk  through  life  is  more  even,  and  that  we  are  out 
of  the  reach  of  that  surprising  arrogance  and  that  astounding 
meanness  to  which  this  wretched  old  victim  is  obliged  to  mount 
and  descend. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

Notable  as  my  reception  had  been  (under  that  unfortunate 
mistake  of  Mrs.  Ponto  that  I  was  related  to  Lord  Snobbington, 
which  I  was  not  permitted  to  correct) ,  it  was  nothing  compared 
to  the  bowing  and  kotooing,  the  raptures  and  flurr}'  which  pre- 
ceded and  welcomed  the  visit  of  a  real  live  lord  and  lord's  son, 
a  brother  officer  of  Cornet  Wellesle}'  Ponto,  in  the  120th  Hus- 
sars, who  came  over  with  the  .young  Cornet  from  Guttlebury, 
where  their  distinguished  regiment  was  quartered.  This  was 
my  Lord  Gules,  Lord  Saltire's  grandson  and  heir :  a  very 
3^oung,  short,  sandy-haired  and  tobacco-smoking  nobleman, 
who  cannot  have  left  the  nursery  very  long,  and  who,  though  he 


372 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


accepted  the  honest  Major's  invitation  to  the  Evergreens  in  a 
letter  written  in  a  schoolboy  handwriting,  with  a  number  of 
faults  of  spelling,  rnay  yet  be  a  very  fine  classical  scholar  for 
what  I  know :  having  had  his  education  at  Eton,  where  he  and 
young  Ponto  were  inseparable. 

At  any  rate,  if  he  can't  write,  he  has  mastered  a  number  of 
other  accomplishments  wonderful  for  one  of  his  age  and  size. 
He  is  one  of  the  best  shots  and  riders  in  England.  He  rode  his 
horse  Abracadabra,  and  won  the  famous  Guttlebury  steeple- 
chase. He  has  horses  entered  at  half  the  races  in  the  countrj^ 
(under  other  people's  names  ;  for  the  old  lord  is  a  strict  hand, 
and  will  not  hear  of  betting  or  gambling).  He  has  lost  and 
won  such  sums  of  money  as  my  Lord  George  himself  might  be 
proud  of.  He  knows  all  the  stables,  and  all  the  jockeys,  and 
has  all  the  "  information,"  and  is  a  match  for  the  best  Leg  at 
Newmarket.  Nobod}^  was  ever  known  to  be  too  much  "  for 
him  :  at  pla}^  or  in  the  stable. 

Although  his  grandfather  makes  him  a  moderate  allowance, 
by  the  aid  of  post-obits  and  convenient  friends  he  can  live  in 
a  splendor  becoming  his  rank.  He  has  not  distinguished  him- 
self in  the  knocking  down  of  policemen  much  ;  he  is  not  big 
enough  for  that.  But,  as  a  light-weight,  his  skill  is  of  the  very 
highest  order.  At  bilUards  he  is  said  to  be  first-rate.  He 
drinks  and  smokes  as  much  as  any  two  of  the  biggest  officers  in 
his  regiment.  With  such  high  talents,  who  can  sa}'  how  far  he 
may  not  go?  He  ma}^  take  to  politics  as  a  delassement^  and  be 
Prime  Minister  after  Lord  George  Bentinck. 

My  3'oung  friend  Wellesle}'  Ponto  is  a  gaunt  and  bon}^  youth, 
with  a  pale  face  profusely  blotched.  From  his  continually  pull- 
ing something  on  his  chin,  I  am  led  to  fancy  that  he  believes  he 
has  what  is  called  an  Imperial  growing  there.  That  is  not  the 
only  tuft  that  is  hunted  in  the  famil}^,  l\y  the  way.  He  can't,  of 
course,  indulge  in  those  expensive  amusements  which  render  his 
aristocratic  comrade  so  respected  :  he  bets  pretty  freely  when 
he  is  in  cash,  and  rides  when  somebod}^  mounts  him  (for  he 
can't  afford  more  than  his  regulation  chargers).  At  drinking  he 
is  by  no  means  inferior ;  and  why  do  you  think  he  brought  his 
noble  friend,  Lord  Gules,  to  the  Evergreens?  —  Why?  because 
he  intended  to  ask  his  mother  to  order  his  father  to  pa}^  his 
debts,  which  she  couldn't  refuse  before  such  an  exalted  pres- 
ence. Young  Ponto  gave  me  all  this  information  with  the  most 
engaging  frankness.  We  are  old  friends.  I  used  to  tip  him  when 
he  was  at  school. 

"  Gad  !  "  says  he,     our  wedgment's  so  dootldd  exthpenthif. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


373 


Must  hunt,  you  know.  A  man  couldn't  live  in  the  wedgment 
if  he  didn't.  Mess  expenses  enawmuth.  Must  dine  at  mess. 
Must  drink  champagne  and  claret.  Ours  ain't  a  port  and  sherry 
light-infantry  mess.  Uniform's  awful.  Fitzstultz,  our  Colonel, 
will  have  'em  so.  Must  be  a  distinction  you  know.  At  his  own 
expense  Fitzstultz  altered  the  plumes  in  the  men's  caps  (you 
called  them  shaving-brushes,  Snob,  my  boy  :  most  absurd  and 
unjust  that  attack  of  3^ours,  by  the  way)  ;  that  altewation  alone 
cotht  him  five  hundred  pound.  The  year  befaw  latht  he  horthed 
the  wegiment  at  an  immentlie  expenthe,  and  we're  called  the 
Queen'th  Own  Pyebalds  from  that  da}'.  Ever  theen  uth  on 
pawade?  The  Empewar  Nicolath  burtht  into  tearth  of  envy 
when  he  thaw  uth  at  Windthor.  And  3'ou  see,"  continued  m}^ 
young  friend,  I  brought  Gules  down  with  me,  as  the  Governor 
is  ver}^  sulk^^  about  shelling  out,  just  to  talk  m}^  mother  over, 
who  can  do  an^'thing  with  him.  Gules  told  her  that  I  was 
Fitzstultz's  favorite  of  the  whole  regiment ;  and.  Gad !  she 
thinks  the  Horse  Guards  will  give  me  my  troop  for  nothing, 
and  he  humbugged  the  Governor  that  I  was  the  greatest  screw 
in  the  army.   Ain't  it  a  good  dodge?" 

With  this  Wellesley  left  me  to  go  and  smoke  a  cigar  in  the 
stables  with  Lord  Gules,  and  make  merry  over  the  cattle  there, 
under  Stripes's  superintendence.  Young  Ponto  laughed  with 
his  friend,  at  the  venerable  four-wheeled  crueltj'-chaise  ;  but 
seemed  amazed  that  the  latter  should  ridicule  still  more  an 
ancient  chariot  of  the  build  of  1824,  emblazoned  immensely 
with  the  arms  of  the  Pontos  and  the  Snailej^s,  from  which  latter 
distinguished  family  Mrs.  Ponto  issued. 

I  found  poor  Pon  in  his  study  among  his  boots,  in  such  a 
rueful  attitude  of  despondency,  that  I  could  not  but  remark  it. 
''Look  at  that!"  saj's  the  poor  fellow,  handing  me  over  a 
document.  "  It's  the  second  change  in  uniform  since  he's  been 
in  the  army,  and  3'et  there's  no  extravagance  about  the  lad. 
Lord  Gules  tells  me  he  is  the  most  careful  3'oungster  in  the 
regiment,  God  bless  him  !  But  look  at  that !  by  heaven,  Snob, 
look  at  that  and  sa^-  how  can  a  man  of  nine  hundred  keep  out 
of  the  Bench  ?  "  He  gave  a  sob  as  he  handed  me  the  paper  across 
the  table  ;  and  his  old  face,  and  his  old  corduroys,  and  his 
shrunk  shooting-jacket,  and  his  lean  shanks,  looked,  as  he 
spoke,  more  miserably  haggard,  bankrupt,  and  threadbare. 


374 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Lieut.  Wellesley  Ponto,  120th  Queen's 


Dress  Jacket,  ripMy  laced 

£ 

s. 

d. 

with  gold  .... 

35 

0 

0 

Ditto    Pelisse    ditto,  and 

trimmed  with  sable    .  . 

60 

0 

0 

Undress    Jacket,  trimmed 

with  gold  .... 

15 

15 

0 

Ditto  Pelisse  .       .       .  . 

30 

0 

0 

Dress  Pantaloons. 

12 

0 

0 

Ditto  Overalls,  gold  lace  on 

sides  

6 

6 

0 

Undress  ditto  ditto 

5 

5 

0 

Blue  Braided  Frock  .      .  . 

14 

14 

0 

Forage  Cap  .... 

3 

3 

0 

Dress  Cap,  gold  lines,  plume 

and  chain    .       .       .  . 

25 

0 

0 

Carried  forward  £207    3  0 


Own  Pyehald  Hussars , 

To  Knopf  and  Stecknadel, 

Conduit  Street,  Londm. 


£ 

s. 

d. 

Brought  forward 

207 

3 

0 

Gold  Barrelled  sash       .  . 

11 

18 

0 

Sword.       .       .       .  . 

11 

11 

0 

Ditto  Belt  and  Sabretache  . 

16 

16 

0 

Pouch  and  Belt 

15 

15 

0 

Sword  Knot 

1 

4 

0 

Cloak   

13 

13 

0 

3 

13 

6 

Regulation  Saddle  .       .  . 

7 

17 

6 

Ditto  Bridle,  complete . 

10 

10 

0 

A    Dress    Housing,  com- 

plete   .       .       .       .  . 

30 

0 

0 

A  pair  of  Pistols  . 

10 

10 

0 

A  Black  Sheepskin,  edged  . 

6 

18 

0 

£347 

9 

0 

That  evening  Mrs.  Ponto  and  her  famih^  made  their  darling 
Wellesley  give  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account  of  ever3'thing 
that  had  taken  place  at  Lord  Fitzstultz's  ;  how  many  servants 
waited  at  dinner ;  and  how  the  Ladies  Schneider  dressed  ;  and 
what  his  Royal  Highness  said  when  he  came  down  to  shoot ;  and 
who  was  there  ?  "  What  a  blessing  that  boy  is  to  me  !  "  said  she, 
as  my  pimple-faced  3'oung  friend  moved  off'  to  resume  smoking 
operations  with  Gules  in  the  now  vacant  kitchen  ;  —  and  poor 
Ponto's  dreary  and  desperate  look,  shall  I  ever  forget  that? 

O  you  parents  and  guardians  !  O  3'ou  men  and  women  of 
sense  in  England !  O  you  legislators  about  to  assemble  in 
Parliament !  read  over  that  tailor's  bill  above  printed  —  read 
over  that  absurd  catalogue  of  insane  gimcracks  and  madman's 
tomfooler}^  —  and  say  how  are  you  ever  to  get  rid  of  Snobbish- 
ness when  society  does  so  much  for  its  education? 

Three  hundred  and  forty  pounds  for  a  young  chap's  saddle 
and  breeches  !  Before  George,  I  would  rather  be  a  Hottentot 
or  a  Highlander.  We  langh  at  poor  Jocko,  the  monke}^,  dan- 
cing in  uniform  ;  or  at  poor  Jeames,  the  flunky,  with  his 
(luivering  calves  and  plush  tights  ;  or  at  the  nigger  Marquis  of 
Marmalade,  dressed  out  with  sabre  and  epaulets,  and  giving 
himself  the  airs  of  a  field-marshal.  Lo  !  is  not  one  of  the 
Queen's  Pyebalds,  in  full  tig,  as  great  and  foolish  a  monster? 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


375 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ON  SOME   COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

At  last  came  that  fortunate  day  at  the  Evergreens,  when  I 
was  to  be  made  acquainted  with  some  of  tlie  "  county  families  " 
with  whom  only  people  of  Ponto's  rank  condescended  to  asso- 
ciate. And  now,  although  poor  Ponto  had  just  been  so  cruelly 
made  to  bleed  on  occasion  of  his  son's  new  uniform,  and  though 
he  was  in  the  direst  and  most  cut-throat  spirits  with  an  over- 
drawn account  at  the  banker's,  and  other  pressing  evils  of  pov- 
erty ;  although  a  tenpenny  bottle  of  Marsala  and  an  awful 
parsimony  presided  generally  at  his  table,  yet  the  poor  fellow 
was  obUged  to  assume  the  most  frank  and  jovial  air  of  cordial- 
ity ;  and  all  the  covers  being  removed  from  the  hangings,  and 
new  dresses  being  procured  for  the  young  ladies,  and  the  family 
plate  being  unlocked  and  displayed,  the  house  and  all  within 
assumed  a  benevolent  and  festive  appearance.  The  kitchen 
fires  began  to  blaze,  the  good  wine  ascended  from  the  cellar,  a 
professed  cook  actually  came  over  from  Guttlebury  to  compile 
culinary  abominations.  Stripes  was  in  a  new  coat,  and  so  was 
Ponto,  for  a  wonder,  and  Tummus's  button  suit  was  w^orn  en 
permanence.* 

And  all  this  to  show  off  the  little  lord,  thinks  I.  All  this  in 
honor  of  a  stupid  little  cigarrified  Cornet  of  dragoons,  who  can 
barel}'  write  his  name,  — while  an  eminent  and  profound  moral- 
ist like  —  somebody  —  is  fobbed  off  with  cold  mutton  and  relaj's 
of  pig.  Well,  well :  a  martyrdom  of  cold  mutton  is  just  bear- 
able. I  pardon  Mrs.  Ponto,  from  my  heart  I  do,  especiall}'  as 
I  wouldn't  turn  out  of  the  best  bedroom,  in  spite  of  all  her 
hints  ;  but.  held  my  ground  in  the  chintz  tester,  vowing  that 
Lord  Gules,  as  a  .young  man,  was  quite  small  and  hard}'  enough 
to  make  himself  comfortable  elsewhere. 

The  great  Ponto  party  was  a  very  august  one.  The  Haw- 
bucks came  in  their  family  coach,  with  the  blood-red  hand  em- 
blazoned all  over  it :  and  their  man  in  A'elloAV  livery  waited  in 
country  fashion  at  table,  only  to  be  exceeded  in  splendor  bv  the 
Hipsle3^s,  the  opposition  baronet,  in  liglit  blue.    The  old  Ladies 

*  I  caught  him  in  this  costume,  trying  the  flavor  of  the  sauce  of  a 
tipsy-cake,  which  was  made  hy  Mrs.  Ponto's  own  liands  for  lier  guests'  de- 
lectation. 


376 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Fitzague  drove  over  in  their  little  old  chariot  with  the  fat  black 
horses,  the  fat  coachman,  the  fat  footman —  (wh}^  are  dowagers' 
horses  and  footmen  alwaj^s  fat?)  And  soon  after  these  per- 
sonages had  arrived,  with  their  auburn  fronts  and  red  beaks 
and  turbans,  came  the  Honorable  and  Reverend  Lionel  Petti- 
pois,  who  with  General  and  Mrs.  Sago  formed  the  rest  of  the 
party.  "Lord  and  Lady  Frederick  Howlet  were  asked,  but 
they  have  friends  at  Ivybush,"  Mrs.  Ponto  told  me  ;  and  that 
very  morning,  the  Castlehaggards  sent  an  excuse,  as  her  lad}'- 
ship  had  a  return  of  the  quinsy.  Between  ourselves.  Lady 
Castlehaggard's  quinsy  alwaj^s  comes  on  when  there  is  dinner 
at  the  Evergreens. 

If  the  keeping  of  polite  compan}^  could  make  a  woman  happy, 
surely  my  kind  hostess  Mrs.  Ponto  was  on  that  da}^  a  happy 
w^oman.  Everj^  person  present  (except  the  unluck}'  impostor 
w^ho  pretended  to  a  connection  with  the  Snobbington  Familj', 
and  General  Sago,  who  had  brought  home  I  don't  know  how 
many  lacs  of  rupees  from  India,)  was  related  to  the  Peerage  or 
the  Baronetage.  Mrs.  P.  had  her  heart's  desire.  If  she  had 
been  an  Earl's  daughter  herself  could  she  have  expected  better 
company?  —  and  her  family  were  in  the  oil-trade  at  Bristol,  as 
all  her  friends  ver}'  well  know. 

What  I  complained  of  in  4ny  heart  was  not  the  dining  — 
which,  for  this  once,  was  plentiful  and  comfortable  enough  — 
but  the  prodigious  dulness  of  the  talking  part  of  the  entertain- 
ment. O  my  beloved  brother  Snobs  of  the  City,  if  we  love  each 
other  no  better  than  our  country-  brethren,  at  least  we  amuse 
each  other  more ;  if  we  bore  ourselves,  we  are  not  called  upon 
to  go  ten  miles  to  do  it ! 

For  instance,  the  Hipsleys  came  ten  miles  from  the  south, 
and  the  Hawbucks  ten  miles  from  the  north,  of  the  Evergreens  ; 
and  were  magnates  in  two  different  divisions  of  the  county  of 
Mangelwurzelshire.  Hipsle^^  who  is  an  old  baronet,  with  a 
bothered  estate,  did  not  care  to  show  his  contempt  for. Hawbuck, 
who  is  a  new  creation,  and  rich.  Hawbuck,  on  his  part,  gives 
himself  patronizing  airs  to  General  Sago,  who  looks  upon  the 
Pontos  as  little  better  than  paupers.  ''Old  Lady  P^lanche," 
says  Ponto,  "  I  hope  will  leave  something  to  her  god-daughter 
—  my  second  girl  —  we've  all  of  us  half-poisoned  ourselves  with 
taking  her  physic." 

Lady  Blanche  and  Lady  Rose  Fitzague  have,  the  first,  a 
inedicai,  and  the  second  a  literary  turn.  I  am  inclined  to  be- 
lieve the  former  had  a  wet  compresse  around  her  bod}^  on  the 
occasion  when  I  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  her.    She  doc- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


377 


tors  even'body  in  the  neighborhood,  of  which  she  is  the  orna- 
ment ;  and  has  tried  everything  on  her  own  person.  She  went 
into  Court,  and  testified  publicly  her  faith  in  St.  John  Long : 
she  swore  by  Doctor  Buchan,  she  took  quantities  of  Gambouge^s 
Universal  Medicine,  and  whole  boxfuls  of  Parr's  Life  Pills. 
She  has  cured  a  multiplicity  of  headaches  b}^  Squinstone's  E^-e- 
snuff ;  she  wears  a  picture  of  Hahnemann  in  her  bracelet  and  a 
lock  of  Priessnitz's  hair  in  a  brooch.  She  talked  about  her 
own  complaints  and  those  of  her  confidante  for  the  time  being, 
to  every  lad}^  in  the  room  successively,  from  our  hostess  down 
to  Miss  Wirt,  taking  them  into  corners,  and  whispering  about 
bronchitis,  hepatitis,  St.  Vitus,  neuralgia,  cephalalgia,  and  so 
forth.  I  observed  poor  fat  Lad}'  Hawbuck  in  a  dreadful  alarm 
after  some  communication  regarding  the  state  of  her  daughter 
Miss  Luc}'  Hawbuck's  health,  and  Mrs.  Sago  turn  quite  yellow, 
and  put  down  her  third  glass  of  Madeira,  at  a  warning  glance 
from  Lad}"  Blanche. 

Lady  Rose  talked  literature,  and  about  the  book-dub  at 
Guttlebury,  and  is  very  strong  in  voyages  and  travels.  She  has 
a  prodigious  interest  in  Borneo,  and  displayed  a  knowledge  of 
the  history  of  the  Punjaub  and  KafRrland  that  does  credit  to  her 
memory.  Old  General  Sago,  who  sat  perfectly  silent  and  ple- 
thoric, roused  up  as  from  a  lethargy  when  the  former  country 
was  mentioned,  and  gave  the  company  his  story  about  a  hog-hunt 
at  Ramjugger.  I  observed  her  ladyship  treated  with  something 
like  contempt  her  neighbor  the  Reverend  Lionel  Pettipois,  a 
young  divine  wliom  you  may  track  through  the  country  by  little 
awakening"  books  at  half  a  crown  a  hundred,  which  dribble 
out  of  his  pockets  wherever  he  goes.  I  saw  him  give  Miss 
Wirt  a  sheaf  of ''The  Little  Washerwoman  on  Putney  Com- 
mon," and  to  Miss  Hawbuck  a  couple  of  dozen  of  Meat  in  the 
Tray  ;  or  the  Young  Butcher-boy  Rescued  ;  "  and  on  paying  a 
visit  to  Guttlebury  gaol,  I  saw  two  notorious  fellows  waiting 
their  trial  there  (and  temporarily  occupied  with  a  game  of  crib- 
bage),  to  whom  his  reverence  offered  a  tract  as  he  was  walking 
over  Crackshins  Common,  and  who  robbed  him  of  his  purse, 
umbrella,  and  cambric  handkerchief,  leaving  him  the  tracts  to 
distribute  elsewhere. 


378 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A  VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 

"  Why,  dear  Mr.  Snob,"  said  a  young  lad}^  of  rank  and  fash- 
ion (to  whom  I  present  my  best  compUments) ,  if  you  found 
ever3'thing  so  snobbish  at  the  Evergreens,  if  the  pig  bored  3^ou 
and  the  mutton  was  not  to  your  hking,  and  Mrs.  Ponto  was  a 
humbug,  and  Miss  Wirt  a  nuisance,  with  her  abominable  piano 
practice,  —  why  did  you  stay  so  long?  " 

Ah,  Miss,  what  a  question  !  Have  you  never  heard  of  gal- 
lant British  soldiers  storming  batteries,  of  doctors  passing 
nights  in  plague  wards  of  lazarettos,  and  other  instances  of 
martyrdom?  What  do  you  suppose  induced  gentlemen  to 
walk  two  miles  up  to  the  batteries  of  Sobraon,  with  a  hundred 
and  Mty  thundering  guns  bowhng  them  down  b}^  hundreds?  — 
not  pleasure,  surel3\  What  causes  your  respected  father  to 
quit  his  comfortable  home  for  his  chambers,  after  dinner,  and 
pore  over  the  most  dreary  law  papers  until  long  past  midnight? 
Duty,  Mademoiselle  ;  dutj^  which  must  be  done  alike  by  mil- 
itar}^  or  legal,  or  literarj'  gents.  There's  a  power  of  martjT- 
dom  in  our  profession. 

You  won't  believe  it?  Your  ros}^  lips  assume  a  smile  of  in- 
creduhty  —  a  most  naught}^  and  odious  expression  in  a  3'oung 
lady's  face.  Well,  then,  the  fact  is,  that  m}'  chambers,  No. 
24,  Pump  Court,  Temple,  were  being  painted  by  the  Honor- 
able Society,  and  Mrs.  Slamkin,  my  laundress,  having  occa- 
sion to  go  into  Durham  to  see  her  daughter,  w^ho  is  married, 
and  has  presented  her  with  the  sweetest  little  grandson  —  a  few 
weeks  could  not  be  better  spent  than  in  rusticating.  But  ah, 
how  deHghtful  Pump  Court  looked  when  I  revisited  its  well- 
known  chimne^'-pots !  C«?•^  luoghi.  Welcome,  welcome,  O, 
fog  and  smut ! 

But  if  you  think  there  is  no  moral  in  the  foregoing  account  of 
the  Pontine  family,  3'ou  are.  Madam,  most  painfull}'  mistaken. 
In  this  very  chapter  we  are  going  to  have  the  moral  —  why,  the 
whole  of  the  i)apers  are  nothing  but  the  moral,  setting  forth  as 
the}^  do  the  foil}'  of  being  a  Snob. 

You  will  remai'k  that  in  the  Country  Snobography  my  poor 
friend  Ponto  has  been  held  u^)  almost  exclusivel}^  for  the  public 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


379 


gaze  —  and  wh}^  ?  Because  we  went  to  no  other  house  ?  Be- 
cause other  families  did  not  welcome  us  to  their  mahogany  ?  No, 
no.  Sir  John  Hawbuck  of  the  Haws,  Sir  John  Hipsley  of  Bri- 
ary  Hall,  don't  shut  the  gates  of  hospitality  :  of  General  Sago's 
mulligatawny  I  could  speak  from  experience.  And  the  two 
old  ladies  at  Guttlebury,  were  they  nothing?  Do  you  suppose 
that  an  agreeable  young  dog,  who  shall  be  nameless,  would  not 
be  made  welcome  ?  Don't  you  know  that  people  are  too  glad  to 
see  anybody  in  the  country  ? 

But  those  dignified  personages  do  not  enter  into  the  scheme 
of  the  present  work,  and  are  but  minor  characters  of  our  Snob 
drama ;  just  as,  in  the  pla}',  kings  and  emperors  are  not  half 
so  important  as  many  humble  persons.  The  Doge  of  Venice^ 
for  instance,  gives  way  to  Othello^  who  is  but  a  nigger  ;  and  the 
King  of  France  to  Falconhridge^  who  is  a  gentleman  of  posi- 
tivel}^  no  birth  at  all.  So  with  the  exalted  characters  above 
mentioned.  1  perfectl}'  well  recollect  that  the  claret  at  Haw- 
buck's was  not  by  any  means  so  good  as  that  of  Hipsley 's, 
while,  on  the  contrary,  some  white  hermitage  at  the  Haws  (b}' 
the  way,  the  butler  only  gave  me  half  a  glass  each  time)  was 
supernacular.  And  I  remember  the  conversations.  O  Madam, 
Madam,  how  stupid  they  were  !  The  subsoil  ploughing  ;  the 
pheasants  and  poaching  ;  the  row  about  the  representation  of 
the  county  ;  the  Earl  of  Mangelwurzelshire  being  at  variance 
with  his  relative  and  nominee,  the  Honorable  Marmaduke  Tom- 
noddy ;  all  these  I  could  put  down,  had  I  a  mind  to  violate  the 
confidence  of  private  life  ;  and  a  great  deal  of  conversation 
about  the  weather,  the  Mangelwurzelshire  Hunt,  new  manures, 
and  eating  and  drinking,  of  course. 

But  cui  bono  ?  In  these  perfectl}^  stupid  and  honorable  fam- 
ilies there  is  not  that  Snobbishness  which  it  is  our  purpose  to 
expose.  An  ox  is  an  ox  —  a  great  hulking,  fat-sided,  bellow- 
ing, munching  Beef.  He  ruminates  according  to  his  nature, 
and  consumes  his  destined  portion  of  turnips  or  oilcake,  until 
the  time  comes  for  his  disappearance  from  the  pastures,  to  be 
succeeded  by  other  deep-lunged  and  fat-ribbed  animals.  Per- 
haps we  do  not  respect  an  ox.  We  rather  acquiesce  in  him. 
The  Snob,  my  dear  Madam,  is  the  Frog  that  tries  to  swell 
himself  to  ox  size.  Let  us  pelt  the  sill}^  brute  out  of  his 
folly. 

Look,  I  pray  you,  at  the  case  of  my  unfortunate  friend 
Ponto,  a  good-natured,  kindly  English  gentleman  —  not  over- 
wise,  but  quite  passable  —  fond  of  port-wine,  of  his  fiimily.  of 
country  sports  and  agriculture,  hospitably  minded,  with  aa 


380 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


pretty  a  little  patrimonial  country-house  as  heart  can  desire, 
and  a  thousand  pounds  a  3'ear.  It  is  not  much  ;  but,  entre  nous^ 
people  can  live  for  less,  and  not  uncomfortably. 

For  instance,  there  is  the  doctor,  whom  Mrs.  P.  does  not 
condescend  to  visit :  that  man  educates  a  mirific  famil^^  and 
is  loved  b}^  the  poor  for  miles  round :  and  gives  them  port-wine 
for  physic  and  medicine,  gratis.  And  how  those  people  can 
get  on  with  their  pittance,  as  Mrs.  Ponto  sa3^s,  is  a  wonder  to 
her. 

Again,  there  is  the  clerg^^man,  Doctor  Chrysostom, — Mrs. 
P.  sa3'S  they  quarrelled  about  Puseyism,  but  I  am  given  to 
understand  it  was  because  Mrs.  C.  had  the  pas  of  her  at  the 
Haws  —  you  ma}^  see  what  the  value  of  his  living  is  any  day  in 
the  ^'  Clerical  Guide  ;  "  but  3'ou  don't  know  what  he  gives  away. 

Even  Pettipois  allows  that,  in  whose  eyes  the  Doctor's  sur- 
plice is  a  scarlet  abomination  ;  and  so  does  Pettipois  do  his 
dut}^  in  his  way,  and  administer  not  only  his  tracts  and  his 
talk,  but  his  mone}'  and  his  means  to  his  people.  As  a  lord's 
son,  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Ponto  is  uncommonly  anxious  that  he 
should  many  either  of  the  girls  whom  Lord  Gules  does  not  in- 
tend to  choose. 

Well,  although  Pon's  income  would  make  up  almost  as  much 
as  that  of  these  three  worthies  put  together  —  oh,  my  dear 
Madam,  see  in  what  hopeless  penury  the  poor  fellow  lives  ! 
What  tenant  can  look  to  his  forbearance  ?  What  poor  man  can 
hope  for  his  charity?  Master's  the  best  of  men,"  honest 
Stripes  saj's,  and  when  we  was  in  the  ridgment  a  more  free- 
handed chap  didn't  live.  But  the  way  in  which  Missus  du 
scr^^ou,  I  wonder  the  3'oung  ladies  is  alive,  that  I  du  !  " 

They  Uve  upon  a  fine  governess  and  fine  masters,  and  have 
clothes  made  by  Lady  Carabas's  own  milliner  ;  and  their  broth- 
er rides  with  earls  to  cover ;  and  only  the  best  people  in  the 
county  visit  at  the  Evergreens,  and  Mrs.  Ponto  thinks  herself 
a  paragon  of  wives  and  mothers,  and  a  wonder  of  the  world, 
for  doing  all  this  misery  and  humbug,  and  snobbishness,  on  a 
thousand  a  year. 

What  an  inexpressible  comfort  it  was,  my  dear  Madam, 
when  vStripes  put  my  portmanteau  in  the  four-wheeled  chaise, 
and  (poor  Pon  being  touched  with  sciatica)  drove  me  over  to 
the  Caral)as  Arms"  at  Guttlebury,  where  we  took  leave. 
There  were  some  bagmen  there,  in  the  Commercial  Room,  and 
one  talked  about  the  house  he  represented  ;  and  another  about 
his  dinner,  and  a  third  about  the  Lnis  on  the  road,  and  so 
forth  — a  talk  not  very  wise,  but  honest  and  to  the  purpose  — 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


381 


about  as  good  as  that  of  the  country  gentlemen :  and  oh,  how 
much  pleasanter  than  listening  to  Miss  Wirt's  showpieces  on 
the  piano,  and  Mrs.  Ponto's  genteel  cackle  about  the  fashion 
and  the  county  families  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

SNOBBIUM  GATHERUM. 

When  I  see  the  great  effect  which  these  papers  are  pro- 
ducing on  an  intelHgent  pubhc,  I  have  a  strong  hope  that  before 
long  we  shall  have  a  regular  Snob-department  in  the  news- 
papers, just  as  we  have  the  Police  Courts  and  the  Court  news 
at  present.  When  a  flagrant  case  of  bone-crushing  or  Poor- 
law  abuse  occurs  in  the  world,  who  so  eloquent  as  The  Times 
to  point  it  out?  When  a  gross  instance  of  Snobbishness  hap- 
pens, why  should  not  the  indignant  journalist  call  the  public 
attention  to  that  delinquenc}'  too? 

How,  for  instance,  could  that  wonderful  case  of  the  Earl  of 
Mangelwurzel  and  his  brother  be  examined  in  the  Snobbish 
point  of  view?  Let  alone  the  hectoring,  the  bullying,  the 
vaporing,  the  bad  grammar,  the  mutual  recriminations,  lie- 
givings,  challenges,  retractions,  which  abound  in  the  fraternal 
dispute  —  put  out  of  the  question  these  points  as  concerning 
the  individual  nobleman  and  his  relative,  with  whose  personal 
affairs  we  have  nothing  to  do  —  and  consider  how  intimatel}" 
corrupt,  how  habitually  grovelling  and  mean,  how  entirel}' 
Snobbish  in  a  word,  a  whole  county  must  be  which  can  find  no 
better  chiefs  or  leaders  than  these  two  gentlemen.  W^e  don't 
want,"  the  great  county  of  Mangelwurzelsliire  seems  to  say, 
that  a  man  should  be  able  to  write  good  grammar  ;  or  that  he 
should  keep  a  Christian  tongue  in  his  head ;  or  that  he  should 
have  the  commonest  decency  of  temper,  or  even  a  fair  share  of 
good  sense,  in  order  to  represent  us  in  Parliament.  All  we 
require  is,  that  a  man  should  be  recommended  to  us  by  the 
Earl  of  Mangelwurzelshire.  And  all  that  we  require  of  the 
Earl  of  Mangelwurzelshire  is  that  he  should  have  fifty  thousand 
a  year  and  hunt  the  country."  O  you  pride  of  all  Snobland  ! 
O  you  crawling,  truckling,  self-confessed  lackeys  and  parasites  ! 

But  this  is  growing  too  savage  :  don't  let  us  forgot  our  usual 
amenity,  and  that  tone  of  playfulness  and  sentiment  with  which 


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the  beloved  reader  and  writer  have  pursued  their  mutual  reflec- 
tions hitherto.  Well,  Snobbishness  pervades  the  little  Social 
Farce  as  well  as  the  great  State  Comedy  ;  and  the  self-same 
moral  is  tacked  to  either. 

There  was,  for  instance,  an  account  in  the  papers  of  a  young 
lady  who,  misled  b}'  a  fortune-teller,  actually  went  part  of  the 
way  to  India  (as  far  as  Bagnigge  AYells,  1  think,)  in  search  of 
a  husband  who  was  promised  her  there.  Do  you  suppose  this 
poor  deluded  little  soul  would  have  left  her  shop  for  a  man 
below  her  in  rank,  or  for  anything  but  a  darling  of  a  Captain 
in  epaulets  and  a  i^d  coat?  It  was  her  Snobbish  sentiment 
that  misled  her,  and  made  her  vanities  a  prey  to  the  swindling 
fortune-teller. 

Case  2  was  that  of  Mademoiselle  de  Saugrenue,  "  the  inter- 
esting 3'oung  Frenchwoman  with  a  profusion  of  jett}'  ringlets," 
who  lived  for  nothing  at  a  boarding-house  at  Gosport,  was  then 
conveyed  to  Fareham  gratis  :  and  being  there,  and  13'ing  on  the 
bed  of  the  good  old  lady  her  entertainer,  the  dear  girl  took 
occasion  to  rip  open  the  mattress,  and  steal  a  cash-box,  with 
which  she  fled  to  London.  How  would  3'ou  account  for  the 
prodigious  benevolence  exercised  towards  the  interesting  young 
French  lady?  Was  it  her  jetty  ringlets  on  her  charming  face? 
—  Bah !  Do  ladies  love  others  for  having  pretty  faces  and 
black  hair?  —  she  said  she  was  a  relation  of  Lord  de  Saugrenue  : 
talked  of  her  lad^'ship  her  aunt,  and  of  herself  as  a  De  Sau- 
grenue. The  honest  boarding-house  people  were  at  her  feet  at 
once.    Good,  honest,  simple,  lord-loving  children  of  Snobland. 

Finall}',  there  was  the  case  of ''the  Right  Honorable  Mr. 
Vernon,"  at  York.  The  Right  Honorable  was  the  son  of  a 
nobleman,  and  practised  on  an  old  lad}'.  He  procured  from  her 
dinners,  money,  wearing-apparel,  spoons,  implicit  credence^ 
and  an  entire  refit  of  linen.  Then  he  cast  his  nets  over  a  famil}' 
of  father,  mother,  and  daughters,  one  of  whom  he  proposed  to 
marry.  The  father  lent  him  monc}',  the  mother  made  jams 
and  pickles  for  him,  the  daughters  vied  with  each  other  in 
cooking  dinners  for  the  Right  Honorable  —  and  what  was  the 
end?  One  day  the  traitor  fled,  with  a  teapot  and  a  basketful 
of  cold  victuals.  It  was  the  Right  Honorable  "  which  baited 
the  hook  which  gorged  all  these  greedy,  simple  Snobs.  Would 
they  have  bec^n  taken  in  by  a  connnoner?  What  old  lad}'  is 
there,  my  dear  sir,  who  would  take  in  you  and  me,  were  we 
ever  so  ill  to  do,  and  comfort  us,  and  clothe  us,  and  give  us  her 
money,  and  her  silver  forks?  Alas  and  alas!  what  mortal 
man  that  speaks  the  truth  can  hope  (or  such  a  landlady?  And 


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383 


yet,  all  these  instances  of  fond  and  credulous  Snobbishness 
have  occurred  in  the  same  week's  paper,  with  who  knows  how 
many  score  more? 

Just  as  we  had  concluded  the  above  remarks  comes  a  prettj' 
little  note  sealed  with  a  pretty  little  butterfly  —  bearing  a 
northern  postmark  —  and  to  the  following  effect :  — 

"  lOtli  November. 

"  Mr.  Punch,  —  Taking  great  interest  in  your  Snob  Papers, 
we  are  very  anxious  to  know  under  what  class  of  that  respect- 
able fraternity  you  would  designate  us. 

We  are  three  sisters,  from  seventeen  to  twenty-two.  Our 
father  is  honestly  and  truly  of  a  very  good  family  (3'ou  will  say 
it  is  Snobbish  to  mention  that,  but  I  wish  to  state  the  plain 
fact)  ;  our  maternal  grandfather  was  an  Earl.* 

We  can  afford  to  take  in  a  stamped  edition  of  you^  and  all 
Dickens's  works  as  fast  as  they  come  out,  but  we  do  not  keep 
such  a  thing  as  a  Peerage  or  even  a  Baronetage  in  the  house. 

''We  live  with  ever}^  comfort,  excellent  cellar,  &c.,  &c.  ; 
but  as  w^e  cannot  well  afford  a  butler,  we  have  a  neat  table-maid 
(though  our  father  was  a  militar^^  man,  has  travelled  much, 
been  in  the  best  society,  &c.)  We  have  a  coachman  and 
helper,  but  we  don't  put  the  latter  into  buttons,  nor  make  them 
wait  at  table,  like  Stripes  and  Tummus.t 

''W^e  are  just  the  same  to  persons  with  a  handle  to  their 
name  as  to  those  without  it.  We  wear  a  moderate  modicum  of 
crinoline,  J  and  are  never  limp  §  in  the  morning.  We  have  good 
and  abundant  dinners  on  china  (though  w^e  have  plate  ||),  and 
just  as  good  when  alone  as  with  company. 

''  Now,  ni}^  dear  Mr.  Punch,  will  you  please  give  us  a  short 
answer  in  your  next  number,  and  I  will  be  so  much  obliged  to 
yoii.  Nobody  knows  we  are  writing  to  3'ou,  not  even  our 
father  ;  nor  will  we  ever  tease  ^.you  again  if  you  will  only  give 
us  an  answer  — just  for  fun,  now  do  ! 

If  you  get  as  far  as  this,  which  is  doubtful,  you  will  prob- 
ably fling  it  into  the  fire.  If  3^ou  do,  I  cannot  help  it ;  but  I 
am  of  a  sanguine  disposition,  and  entertain  a  lingering  hope. 

*  The  introduction  of  Grandpapa  is,  I  fear,  Snobbish. 

t  That  is,  as  you  like.    I  don't  object  to  buttons  in  moderation. 

X  Quite  right. 

§  Bless  you ! 

II  Snobbish  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  you  ought  to  dine  as  well  when  alone 
^is  with  company.    You  will  be  getting  too  good  dinners. 
TI  We  like  to  be  teased  ;  but  tell  Papa. 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


At  all  events,  I  shall  be  impatient  for  next  Sunday,  for  3^011 
reach  us  on  that  claj^  and  I  am  ashamed  to  confess,  we  cannot 
resist  opening  3  on  in  the  carriage  driving  home  from  church.* 
I  remain,  &c.  &c.,  for  m3'self  and  sisters. 
Excuse  this  scrawl,  but  I  alwa3^s  write  headlong /'-f 

"  P.S.  — You  were  rather  stupid  last  week,  don't  3'Ou  think  ?  I 
We  keep  no  gamekeeper,  and  3^et  have  alwa3'S  abundant  game  for 
friends  to  shoot,  in  spite  of  the  poachers.  We  never  write  on 
perfumed  paper  —  in  short,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  if  3'ou 
knew  us  3'ou  would  not  think  us  Snobs." 

To  this  I  repl3^  in  the  following  manner  :  —  M3^  dear  3'oung 
ladies,  I  know  3^our  post-town  :  and  shall  be  at  church  there 
the  Sunda3^  after  next ;  when,  will  3'ou  please  to  wear  a  tulip 
or  some  little  trifle  in  3^our  bonnets,  so  that  I  ma3^  know  3'ou? 
You  will  recognize  me  and  m3'  dress  —  a  quiet-looking  young 
fellow,  in  a  white  top-coat,  a  crimson  satin  neck-cloth,  light  blue 
trousers,  with  gloss3'  tipped  boots,  and  an  emerald  breastpin. 
I  shall  have  a  black  crape  round  my  white  hat ;  and  m3^  usual 
bamboo  cane  with  the  riehlv-gilt  knob.  I  am  sony  there  will 
be  no  time  to  get  up  moustaches  between  now  and  next  week. 

"  From  seventeen  to  two-and-twenty  !  Ye  gods  !  what  ages  ! 
Dear  young  creatures,  I  can  see  3^ou  all  three.  Seventeen  suits 
me,  as  nearest  m3^  own  time  of  life  ;  but  mind,  I  don't  sa3'  two- 
and-twenty  is  too  old.  No,  no.  And  that  pretty,  roguish, 
demure,  middle  one.  Peace,  peace,  thou  silly  little  fluttering 
heart ! 

Tou  Snobs,  dear  3^oung  ladies  !  I  will  pull  any  man's  nose 
who  sa3's  so.  There  is  no  harm  in  being  of  a  good  family. 
You  can't  help  it,  poof  dears.  What's  in  a  name  ?  What  is  in 
a  handle  to  it?  I  confess  openl3^  that  I  should  not  object  to 
being  a  Duke  m3'self ;  and  between  ourselves  3^ou  might  see  a 
worse  leg  for  a  garter. 

Foil  Snobs,  dear  little  good-natured  things,  no  !  —  that  is, 
I  hope  not —  I  think  not —  I  won't  be  too  confident  —  none  of 
us  should  ])e  —  that  we  are  not  Snobs.  That  ver3^  confidence 
savors  of  arrogance,  and  to  be  arrogant  is  to  be  a  Snob.  In 
all  the  social  gradations  from  sneak  to  tyrant,  nature  has  placed 
a  most  wondrous  and  various  progen3'  of  Snobs.    But  are  there 

*  O  garters  and  stars !  what  will  Captain  Gordon  and  Exeter  Hall  say 
to  this  ? 

t  Dear  little  enthusiast! 

J  You  were  never  more  mistaken,  Miss,  in  your  life. 


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385 


no  kindly  natures,  no  tender  hearts,  no  souls  humble,  simple, 
and  truth-loving?  Ponder  well  on  this  question,  sweet  young 
ladies.  And  if  you  can  answer  it,  as  no  doubt  you  can  — 
lucky  are  you  —  and  lucky  the  respected  Herr  Papa,  and  lucky 
the  three  handsome  young  gentlemen  who  are  about  to  become 
each  others'  brothers-in-law." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

SNOBS    AND  MARRIAGE. 

Everybody  of  the  middle  rank  who  walks  through  this  life 
with  a  sympathy  for  his  companions  on  the  same  journey  —  at 
any  rate,  exeiy  man  who  has  been  jostling  in  the  world  for 
some  three  or  four  lustres  —  must  make  no  end  of  melancholy 
reflections  upon  the  fate  of  those  victims  whom  Societ3%  that 
is.  Snobbishness,  is  immolating  every  dsi}\  With  love  and 
simplicit}"  and  natural  kindness  Snobbishness  is  perpetuall}'  at 
war.  People  dare  not  be  happ}^  for  fear  of  Snobs.  People 
dare  not  love  for  fear  of  Snobs.  People  pine  awa}^  lonel}' 
under  the  tyrann}'  of  Snobs.  Honest  kindly  hearts  dr}'  up  and 
die.  Gallant  generous  lads,  blooming  with  heart}^  youth,  swell 
into  bloated  old-bachelorhood,  and  burst  and  tumble  over. 
Tender  girls  wither  into  shrunken  deca}',  and  perish  solitary, 
from  whom  Snobbishness  has  cut  off  the  common  claim  to 
happiness  and  affection  with  which  Nature  endowed  us  all. 
My  heart  grows  sad  as  I  see  the  blundering  tyrant's  handi- 
work. As  I  behold  it  I  swell  with  cheap  rage,  and  glow  with 
fury  against  the  Snob.  Come  down,  I  say,  thou  skulking  dul- 
ness  !  Come  down,  thou  stupid  bully,  and  give  up  thy  brutal 
ghost !  And  I  arm  myself  with  tlie  sword  and  spear,  and 
taking  leave  of  m}'  famil}^  go  forth  to  do  battle  with  that 
hideous  ogre  and  giant,  that  brutal  despot  in  Snob  Castle,  who 
holds  so  many  gentle  hearts  in  torture  and  thrall. 

When  Punch  is  king,  I  declare  there  shall  be  no  such  thing 
as  old  maids  and  old  bachelors.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Malthns 
shall  be  burned  annually,  instead  of  Guy  Fawkes.  Those  who 
don't  marry  shall  go  into  the  workhouse.  It  shall  be  a  sin  for 
the  poorest  not  to  have  a  pretty  girl  to  love  him. 

The  above  reflections  came  to  mind  after  taking  a  walk 
with  an  old  comrade.  Jack  Spio'got  by  name,  who  is  just  pass- 

25 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


ing  into  the  state  of  old  bachelorhood,  after  the  manly  and 
blooming  3^outh  in  which  I  remember  him.  Jack  was  one  of 
the  handsomest  fellows  in  England  when  we  entered  together 
in  the  Highland  Buffs ;  but  I  quitted  the  Cutt3^kilts  early,  and 
lost  sight  of  him  for  many  years. 

Ah  !  how  changed  he  is  from  those  days !  He  wears  a 
waistband  now,  and  has  begun  to  dye  his  whiskers.  His 
cheeks,  which  were  red,  are  now  mottled  ;  his  e3'es,  once  so 
bright  and  steadfast,  are  the  color  of  peeled  plovers'  eggs. 

''Are  you  married,  Jack?"  says  I,  remembering  how  con- 
sumedly  in  love  he  was  with  his  cousin  Letty  Lovelace,  when 
the  Cuttykilts  were  quartered  at  Strathbungo  some  twenty 
years  ago. 

"Married?  no,"  says  he.  "Not  money  enough.  Hard 
enough  to  keep  myself,  much  more  a  famil}^  on  five  hundred  a 
3'ear.  Come  to  Dickinson's  ;  there's  some  of  the  best  Madeira 
in  London  there,  my  boy."  So  we  went  and  talked  over  old 
times.  The  bill  for  dinner  and  wine  consumed  was  prodigious, 
and  the  quantity  of  brandy-and-water  that  Jack  took  showed 
what  a  regular  boozer  he  was.  "A  guinea  or  two  guineas. 
What  the  devil  do  I  care  w^hat  I  spend  for  my  dinner?  "  says  he. 

"  And  Letty  Lovelace  ?  "  says  I. 

Jack's  countenance  fell.  However,  he  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh  presently.  "  Letty  Lovelace  !  "  saj^s  he.  "  She's  Letty 
Lovelace  still ;  but  Gad,  such  a  wizened  old  woman  !  She's 
as  thin  as  a  thread-paper ;  (you  remember  what  a  figure  she 
had  :)  her  nose  has  got  red,  and  her  teeth  blue.  She's  always 
ill ;  alwaj's  quarrelling  with  the  rest  of  the  famil}-  ;  alwaj^s 
psalm- singing,  and  alwa3^s  taking  pills.  Gad,  I  had  a  rare 
escape  there.    Push  round  the  grog,  old  bo3^" 

Straightwa3'  memory  went  back  to  the  cla3's  when  Lett3^  was 
the  loveliest  of  blooming  3'oung  creatures  :  when  to  hear  her 
sing  was  to  make  the  heart  jump  into  your  throat ;  when  to 
see  her  dance,  was  better  tlian  Montessu  or  Noblet  (the3^  were 
the  Ballet  Queens  of  those  days)  ;  when  Jack  used  to  wear  a 
locket  of  her  hair,  with  a  little  gold  chain  round  his  neck,  and, 
exhilarated  with  toddy,  after  a  sederunt  of  the  Cutt3ivilt  mess, 
used  to  pull  out  this  token,  and  kiss  it,  and  howl  about  it,  to 
the  great  amusement  of  the  bottle-nosed  old  Major  and  the  rest 
of  the  table. 

"  My^  father  and  hers  couldn't  put  their  horses  together," 
Jack  said.  "  The  General  wouldn't  come  down  with  more  than 
six  thousand.  M3^  governor  said  it  shouldn't  be  done  under 
eight.    Lovelace  told  him  to  go  and  be  hanged,  and  so  we 


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387 


parted  compan}'.  They  said  she  was  in  a  decline.  Gammon  ! 
She's  forty,  and  as  tough  and  as  sour  as  this  bit  of  lemon-peel. 
Don't  put  much  into  your  punch,  Snob  my  boy.  No  man  can 
stand  punch  after  wine." 

And  what  are  your  pursuits,  Jack?''  sa3^s  I. 

Sold  out  when  the  governor  died.  Mother  lives  at  Bath. 
Go  down  there  once  a  year  for  a  week.  Dreadful  slow.  Shil- 
ling whist.  Four  sisters  —  all  unmarried  except  the  3^oungest 
—  awful  work.  Scotland  in  August.  Italy  in  the  winter. 
Cursed  rheumatism.  Come  to  London  in  March,  and  toddle 
about  at  the  Club,  old  boy  ;  and  we  won't  go  home  till  maw- 
aw-rning  till  daylight  does  appear." 

''And  here's  the  wreck  of  two  lives!"  mused  the  present 
Snobographer,  after  taking  leave  of  Jack  Spiggot.  Pretty 
merry  Letty  Lovelace's  rudder  lost  and  she  cast  away,  and 
handsome  Jack  Spiggot  stranded  on  the  shore  like  a  drunken 
Trinculo." 

What  was  it  that  insulted  Nature  (to  use  no  higher  name), 
and  perverted  her  kindly  intentions  towards  them?  What 
cursed  frost  was  it  that  nipped  the  love  that  both  were  bearing, 
and  condemned  the  girl  to  sour  steriht}^,  and  the  lad  to  selfish 
old- bachelorhood  ?  It  was  the  infernal  Snob  t3Tant  who  governs 
us  all,  who  says,  Thou  shalt  not  love  without  a  lady's-maid  ; 
thou  shalt  not  marr}^  without  a  carriage  and  horses  ;  thou  shalt 
have  no  wife  in  thy  heart,  and  no  children  on  th}'  knee,  without 
a  page  in  buttons  and  a  French  honne ;  thou  shalt  go  to  the 
devil  unless  thou  hast  a  brougham  ;  marr}^  poor,  and  society 
shall  forsake  thee  ;  th}'  kinsmen  shall  avoid  thee  as  a  criminal ; 
th}^  aunts  and  uncles  shall  turn  up  their  eyes  and  bemoan  the 
sad,  sad  manner  in  which  Tom  or  Harry  has  thrown  himself 
away."  You,  3'oung  woman,  ma3"  sell  3'ourself  without  shame, 
and  marr3^  old  Croesus  ;  you,  3'Oung  man,  ma3^  lie  away  3'our 
heart  and  3'our  life  for  a  jointure.  But  if  3'ou  are  poor,  woe 
be  to  you  !  Society,  the  brutal  Snob  autocrat,  consigns  yon  to 
solitary  perdition.  Wither,  poor  girl,  in  3'our  garret :  rot, 
poor  bachelor,  in  3^our  Club. 

When  I  see  those  graceless  recluses  —  those  unnatural 
monks  and  nuns  of  the  order  of  St.  Beelzebub,*  my  hatred 

*  This,  of  course,  is  understood  to  apply  only  to  those  unmarried  per- 
sons whom  a  mean  and  Snobbish  fear  about  money  has  kept  from  fulfilling 
their  natural  destiny.  Man}'  persons  there  are  devoted  to  celibacy  because 
they  cannot  help  it.  Of  these  a  man  would  be  a  brute  who  spoke  roughly. 
Indeed,  after  Miss  O'Toole's  conduct  to  the  writer,  he  would  be  the  last 
to  condemn.    But  never  mind,  tiiese  are  personal  matters. 


388 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


for  Snobs,  and  their  worship,  and  their  idols,  passes  all  con- 
tinence. Let  us  hew  down  that  man-eating  Juggernaut,  I  say, 
that  hideous  Dagon  ;  and  I  glow  with  the  heroic  courage  of 
Tom  Thumb,  and  join  battle  with  the  giant  Snob. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

SNOBS  AND  MARRIAGE. 

In  that  noble  romance  called  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"  I 
remember  a  profoundly  pathetic  description  of  the  Christian 
manner  in  which  the  hero,  Mr.  Aubre}^,  bore  his  misfortunes. 
After  making  a  display  of  the  most  florid  and  grandiloquent 
resignation,  and  quitting  his  country  mansion,  the  writer  sup- 
poses Aubre}^  to  come  to  town  in  a  post-chaise  and  pair,  sitting 
bodkin  probably  between  his  wife  and  sister.  It  is  about  seven 
o'clock,  carriages  are  rattling  about,  knockers  are  thundering, 
and  tears  bedim  the  fine  e3^es  of  Kate  and  Mrs.  Aubre}^  as  they 
think  that  in  happier  times  at  this  hour  —  their  Aubre}^  used 
formerly  to  go  out  to  dinner  to  the  houses  of  the  aristocracy 
his  friends.  This  is  the  gist  of  the  passage  —  the  elegant 
words  I  forget.  But  the  noble,  noble  sentiment  I  shall  alwa3^s 
cherish  and  remember.  What  can  be  more  sublime  than  the 
notion  of  a  great  man's  relatives  in  tears  about — his  dinner? 
With  a  few  touches,  what  author  ever  more  happily  described 
A  Snob? 

We  were  reading  the  passage  lately  at  the  house  of  m}^ 
friend,  Raymond  Gray,  Esquire,  Barrister-at-Law,  an  ingenious 
youth  without  the  least  practice,  but  who  has  luckily  a  great 
share  of  good  spirits,  which  enables  him  to  bide  his  time,  and 
bear  laughingly  his  humble  position  in  the  world.  Meanwhile, 
until  it  is  altered,  the  stern  laws  of  necessit}^  and  the  expenses 
of  the  Northern  Circuit  oblige  Mr.  Gray  to  live  in  a  very  tiny 
mansion  in  a  very  queer  small  square  in  the  airy  neighborhood 
of  Gray's  Inn  Lane. 

Wliat  is  the  more  remarkable  is,  that  Gra}^  has  a  wife  there. 
Mrs.  Gray  was  a  Miss  Ilarley  leaker :  and  I  suppose  I  need 
not  say  that  is  a  respectable  family.  AlUed  to  the  Cavendislies, 
the  Oxfords,  the  Marrybones,  they  still,  thofigh  rather  dechus 
from  their  original  splendor,  hold  their  heads  as  high  as  an}'. 
Mrs.  Ilarley  Baker,  1  know,  never  goes  to  church  without  John 
behind  to  carry  her  prayer-book ;  nor  will  Miss  Welbeck,  her 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


389 


sister,  walk  twenty  yards  a-shopping  without  the  protection  of 
Figby,  her  sugar-loaf  page  ;  though  the  old  lady  is  as  ugly 
as  any  woman  in  the  parish  and  as  tall  and  whiskery  as  a 
grenadier.  The  astonishment  is,  how  Emily  Harle}'  Baker 
could  have  stooped  to  marry  Raymond  Gray.  She,  who  was 
the  prettiest  and  proudest  of  the  family  ;  she,  who  refused  Sir 
Cockle  Byles,  of  the  Bengal  Service  ;  she,  who  turned  up  her 
little  nose  at  Essex  Temple,  Q.C.,  and  connected  with  the 
noble  house  of  Albj^n  ;  she,  who  had  but  4,000/.  pour  tout 
potage^  to  marry  a  man  who  had  scarcely  as  much  more.  A 
scream  of  wrath  and  indignation  was  uttered  by  the  whole 
family  when  they  heard  of  this  mesalliance,  Mrs.  Harley  Baker 
never  speaks  of  her  daughter  now  but  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  as  a  ruined  creature.  Miss  Welbeck  sa3^s,  "I  consider 
that  man  a  villain ;  "  and  has  denounced  poor  good-natured 
Mrs.  Perkins  as  a  swindler,  at  whose  ball  the  j^oung  people 
met  for  the  first  time. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gray,  meanwhile,  live  in  Graj-'s  Inn  Lane 
aforesaid,  with  a  maid-servant  and  a  nurse,  whose  hands  are 
verj'  full,  and  in  a  most  provoking  and  unnatural  state  of  hap- 
piness. They  have  never  once  thought  of  crying  about  their 
dinner,  like  the  wretchedly  puling  and  Snobbish  womankind  of 
my  favorite  Snob  Aubrey,  of  Ten  Thousand  a  Year;"  but, 
on  the  contrar}^  accept  such  humble  victuals  as  fate  awards 
them  with  a  most  perfect  and  thankful  good  grace  —  nay, 
actually  have  a  portion  for  a  hungry  friend  at  times  —  as 
the  present  writer  can  gratefully  testify. 

I  was  mentioning  these  dinners,  and  some  admirable  lemon 
puddings  which  Mrs.  Gray  makes,  to  our  mutual  friend  the 
great  Mr.  Goldmore,  the  East  India  Director,  when  that  gentle- 
man's face  assumed  an  expression  of  almost  apoplectic  terror, 
and  he  gasped  out,  ''What!  Do  they  give  dinners?"  He 
seemed  to  think  it  a  crime  and  a  wonder  that  such  people 
should  dine  at  all,  and  that  it  was  their  custom  to  huddle  round 
their  kitchen-fire  over  a  bone  and  a  crust.  Whenever  he  meets 
them  in  society,  it  is  a  matter  of  wonder  to  him  (and  he  always 
expresses  his  surprise  very  loud)  how  the  lady  can  appear 
decently  dressed,  and  the  man  have  an  unpatched  coat  to  his 
back.  I  have  heard  him  enlarge  upon  this  poverty  before  the 
whole  room  at  the  ''  Conflagrative  Club,"  to  which  he  and  I  and 
Gray  have  the  honor  to  belong. 

We  meet  at  the  Club  on  most  days.  At  half-past  four, 
Goldmore  arrives  in  St.  James's  Street,  from  the  City,  and  you 
may  see  him  reading  the  evening  papers  in  the  bow- window  of 


390 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


the  Club,  which  enfilades  Pall  Mall  —  a  large  plethoric  man, 
with  a  bunch  of  seals  in  a  large  bow- windowed  light  waistcoat. 
He  has  large  coat-tails,  stuffed  with  agents'  letters  and  papers 
about  companies  of  which  he  is  a  Director.  His  seals  jingle  as 
he  walks.  I  wish  I  had  such  a  man  for  an  uncle,  and  that  he 
himself  were  childless.  I  would  love  and  cherish  him,  and  be 
kind  to  him! 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  full  season,  when  all  the  world  is  in 
St.  James's  Street,  and  the  carriages  are  cutting  in  and  out 
among  the  cabs  on  the  stand,  and  the  tufted  dandies  are  show- 
ing their  listless  faces  out  of  White's,"  and  you  see  respect- 
able gray-headed  gentlemen  waggling  their  heads  to  each  other 
through  the  plate-glass  windows  of  Arthur's  :  "  and  the  red- 
coats wish  to  be  Briareian,  so  as  to  hold  all  the  gentlemen's 
horses ;  and  that  wonderful  red- coated  royal  porter  is  sunning 
himself  before  Marlborough  House  ;  —  at  the  noon  of  London 
time,  you  see  a  light- \^ellow  carriage  with  black  horses,  and  a 
coachman  in  a  tight  floss-silk  wig,  and  two  footmen  in  powder 
and  white  and  yellow  liveries,  and  a  large  woman  inside  in 
shot-silk,  a  poodle,  and  a  pink  parasol,  which  drives  up  to  the 
gate  of  the  "  Conflagrative,"  and  the  page  goes  and  saj's  to 
Mr.  Goldmore  (who  is  perfect!}"  aware  of  the  fact,  as  he  is 
looking  out  of  the  windows  with  about  fort}"  other  Conflagra- 
tive" bucks),  ''Your  carriage.  Sir."  G.  wags  his  head. 
"Remember,  eight  o'clock  precisel}^,"  sa3's  he  to  Mulligataw- 
ne}^,  the  other  East  India  Director ;  and,  ascending  the  car- 
riage, plumps  down  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Goldmore  for  a  drive 
in  the  Park,  and  then  home  to  Portland  Place.  As  the  carriage 
whirls  off*,  all  the  3  oung  bucks  in  the  Club  feel  a  secret  elation. 
It  is  a  part  of  their  establishment,  as  it  were.  That  carriage 
belongs  to  their  Club,  and  their  Club  belongs  to  them.  They 
follow  the  equipage  with  interest ;  they  eye  it  knowingly  as 
the}'  see  it  in  the  Park.  But  halt !  we  are  not  come  to  tlie 
Club  Snobs  yet.  O  my  brave  Snobs,  what  a  flurry  there  will 
be  among  you  when  those  papers  appear ! 

Well,  you  may  judge,  from  the  above  description,  what  sort 
of  a  man  (ioldmore  is.  A  dull  and  pompous  Leadenhall  Street 
Cnesus,  good-natured  witlial,  and  affable  —  cruelly  afl'able. 
''  Mr.  Goldmore  can  never  forget,"  his  lady  used  to  say,  "  that 
it  was  Mrs.  Gray's  grandfather  who  sent  him  to  India  ;  and 
though  that  young  woman  has  made  the  most  imprudent  mar- 
riage in  the  workl,  and  has  left  her  station  in  society,  her 
husband  seems  an  ingenious  and  kiborious  young  man,  and 
we  shall  do  everything  in  our  power  to  be  of  use  to  him,"  So 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


391 


they  used  to  ask  the  Grays  to  dinner  twice  or  thrice  in  a  season, 
when,  by  wa}'  of  increasing  the  kindness.  Buff,  the  butler,  is 
ordered  to  hire  a  fly  to  convey  them  to  and  from  Portland 
Place. 

Of  course  I  am  much  too  good-natured  a  friend  of  both 
parties  not  to  tell  Gray  of  Goldmore's  opinion  regarding  him, 
and  the  nabob's  astonishment  at  the  idea  of  the  briefless  bar- 
rister having  any  dinner  at  all.  Indeed,  Goldmore's  saying 
became  a  joke  against  Gra}"  amongst  us  wags  at  the  Club,  and 
we  used  to  ask  him  when  he  tasted  meat  last?  whether  we 
should  bring  him  home  something  from  dinner !  and  cut  a 
thousand  other  mad  pranks  with  him  in  our  facetious  wsiy. 

One  day,  then,  coming  home  from  the  Club,  Mr.  Gray  con- 
veyed to  his  wife  the  astounding  information  that  he  had  asked 
Goldmore  to  dinner. 

M}^  love,"  sa3^s  Mrs.  Gray,  in  a  tremor,  "  how  could  3^ou 
be  so  cruel  ?   Wh}',  the  dining-room  won't  hold  Mrs.  Goldmore." 

'^Make  3^our  mind  eas}^  Mrs.  Gray;  her  ladjship  is  in 
Paris.  It  is  onl}^  Croesus  that's  coming,  and  we  are  going  to 
the  play  afterwards  —  to  Sadler's  Wells.  Goldmore  said  at 
the  Club  that  he  thought  Shakspeare  was  a  great  dramatic 
poet,  and  ought  to  be  patronized  ;  whereupon,  fired  with  en- 
thusiasm, I  invited  him  to  our  banquet." 

''Goodness  gracious!  w^hat  cati  we  give  him  for  dinner? 
He  has  two  French  cooks  ;  you  know  Mrs.  Goldmore  is  alw^ays 
telling  us  about  them  ;  and  he  dines  with  Aldermen  ever}^  day." 

"  *  A  plain  leg  of  mutton,  my  Lucy, 
I  prythee  get  ready  at  three  ; 
Have  it  tender,  and  smoking,  and  juicy, 
And  wliat  better  meat  can  there  be '? ' " 

says  Gra^s  quoting  my  favorite  poet. 

But  the  cook  is  ill ;  and  you  know  that  horrible  Pattypan 
the  pastr}'- cook's  —  " 

Silence,  Frau  !  "  says  Gray,  in  a  deep  traged}"  voice.  "  1 
will  have  the  ordering  of  this  repast.  Do  all  things  as  I  bid 
thee.  Invite  our  friend  Snob  here  to  partake  of  the  feast.  Be 
mine  the  task  of  procuring  it." 

"Don't  be  expensive,  Raymond,"  says  his  wife. 

''Peace,  thou  timid  partner  of  the  briefless  one.  Gold- 
more's dinner  shall  be  suited  to  our  narrow  means.  Only  do 
thou  in  all  things  my  commands."  And  seeing  by  the  peculiar 
expression  of  the  rogue's  countenance,  that  some  mad  waggery 
was  in  preparation,  I  awaited  the  morrow  with  anxiety. 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SNOBS    AND  MARRIAGE. 

Punctual  to  the  hour —  (by  the  way,  I  cannot  omit  here  to 
mark  down  m}'  hatred,  scorn,  and  indignation  towards  those 
miserable  Snobs  who  come  to  dinner  at  nine,  when  the}^  are 
asked  at  eight,  in  order  to  make  a  sensation  in  the  compan3\ 
May  the  loathing  of  honest  folks,  the  backbiting  of  others,  the 
curses  of  cooks,  pursue  these  wretches,  and  avenge  the  society 
on  which  they  trample  !)  — Punctual,  I  say,  to  the  hour  of  five, 
which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond  Gray  had  appointed,  a  youth  of 
an  elegant  appearance,  in  a  neat  evening-dress,  whose  trim 
whiskers  indicated  neatness,  whose  light  step  denoted  activitj^ 
(for  in  sooth  he  was  hungry,  and  always  is  at  the  dinner  hour, 
whatsoever  that  hour  ma}-  be),  and  whose  rich  golden  hair, 
curling  down  his  shoulders,  was  set  off  by  a  perfectl}'  new  four- 
and-ninepenny  silk  hat,  was  seen  wending  his  way  down  Bittle- 
stone  Street,  Bittlestone  Square,  Gray's  Inn.  The  person  in 
question,  I  need  not  say,  was  Mr.  Snob.  He  is  never  late 
when  invited  to  dine.    But  to  proceed  with  my  narrative  :  — 

Although  Mr.  Snob  may  have  flattered  himself  that  he  made 
a  sensation  as  he  strutted  down  Bittlestone  Street  with  his 
richly  gilt  knobbed  cane  (and  indeed  T  vow  I  saw  heads  look- 
ing at  me  from  Miss  Squilsl)y's,  the  brass-plated  milliner  oppo- 
site Raymond  Graj^'s,  who  has  three  silver-paper  bonnets,  and 
two  fly-blown  French  prints  of  fashion  in  the  window),  yQt 
what  was  the  emotion  produced  b}'  ni}^  arrival,  compared  to 
that  with  which  the  little  street  thrilled,  when  at  five  minutes 
past  five  the  floss-wigged  coachman,  the  yellow  hammer-cloth 
and  flunkies,  the  black  liorses  and  blazing  silver  harness  of 
Mr.  Goldmore  whirled  down  the  street !  It  is  a  very  Httle 
street,  of  very  little  houses,  most  of  them  with  very  large  brass 
plates  like  Miss  Squilsby's.  Coal-merchants,  architects  and 
surveyors,  two  surgeons,  a  solicitor,  a  dancing-master,  and  of 
course  several  house-agents,  occupy  the  houses  —  little  two- 
storied  edifices  with  little  stucco  poi'ticoes.  (loldmore's  carriage 
overto|)ped  the  roofs  almost ;  the  first  floors  might  shake  hands 
with  Croesus  as  he  lolled  inside  ;  all  the  windows  of  those  first 
floors  thronged  with  children  and  women  in  a  twinkling.  There 
was  Mrs.  Hammerly  in  curl-papers  ;  Mrs.  Saxb}^  with  her  front 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


393 


awry ;  Mr.  Wriggles  peering  through  the  gauze  curtains,  hold- 
ing the  while  his  hot  glass  of  rum-ancl- water  —  in  fine,  a  tre- 
mendous commotion  in  Bittlestone  Street,  as  the  Goldmore 
carriage  drove  up  to  Mr.  Ra3'mond  Gra3^'s  door. 

' '  How  kind  it  is  of  him  to  come  with  both  the  footmen ! " 
says  little  Mrs.  Gray,  peeping  at  the  vehicle  too.  The  huge 
domestic,  descending  from  his  perch,  gave  a  rap  at  the  door 
which  almost  drove  in  the  building.  All  the  heads  were  out ; 
the  sun  was  sinning  ;  the  very  organ-boy  paused  ;  the  footman, 
the  coach,  and  Goldmore's  red  face  and  white  waistcoat  were 
blazing  in  splendor.  The  herculean  plushed  one  went  back  to 
open  the  carriage  door. 

Ra3'mond  Graj'  opened  his  —  in  his  shirt  sleeves. 

He  ran  up  to  the  carriage.  "Come  in,  Goldmore,"  saj^s 
he  ;  ''just  in  time,  my  hoy.  Open  the  door,  What-d'ye-calFum, 
and  let  your  master  out,"  —  and  What-d'ye-call'um  obeyed 
mechanical I3',  with  a  face  of  wonder  and  horror,  onl3"  to  be 
equalled  b3^  the  look  of  stupefied  astonishment  which  ornamented 
the  purple  countenance  of  his  master. 

'' Wawt  taim  will  3'OU  please  have  the  cage.,  sir?"  saj^s 
What-d'3'e-cairum,  in  that  peculiar,  unspellable,  inimitable, 
flunky fied  pronunciation  which  forms  one  of  the  chief  charms 
of  existence. 

''  Best  have  it  to  the  theatre  at  night,"  Gra3"  exclaims  ;  ''it 
is  but  a  step  from  here  to  the  Wells,  and  we  can  walk  there. 
I've  got  tickets  for  all.    Be  at  Sadler's  Wells  at  eleven." 

"  Yes,  at  eleven,"  exclaims  Goldmore,  perturbedl3%  and 
walks  with  a  flurried  step  into  the  house,  as  if  he  were  going  to 
execution  (as  indeed  he  was,  with  that  wicked  Gra3'  as  a  Jack 
Ketch  over  him).  The  carriage  drove  awa3',  followed  by  num- 
berless eyes  from  doorsteps  and  balconies  ;  its  appearance  is 
still  a  wonder  in  Bittlestone  Street. 

"Go  in  there,  and  amuse  yourself  with  Snob,"  says  Gra3', 
opening  the  little  drawing-room  door.  "  I'll  call  out  as 
soon  as  the  chops  are  read3'.  Fanny's  below,  seeing  to  th^ 
pudding." 

"Gracious  mercy!"  says  Goldmore  to  me,  quite  confiden 
tially,  "  how  could  he  ask  us?  I  really  had  no  idea  of  this  — 
this  utter  destitution." 

"Dinner,  dinner!"  roars  out  Gray,  from  the  dining-room, 
whence  issued  a  great  smoking  and  frying  ;  and  entering  that 
apartment  we  find  Mrs.  Gray  ready  to  receive  us.  and  looking 
perfectly  like  a  Princess  who,  by  some  accident,  had  a  bowl  of 
potatoes  in  her  hand,  which  vegetables  she  placed  on  the  table. 


394 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Her  hnsband  was  meanwhile  cooking  mutton-chops  on  a  grid- 
iron over  tlie  fire. 

•'Fannj'  has  made  the  rolj^-pol}^  pudding,"  says  he;  "the 
chops  are  my  part.  Here's  a  fine  one  ;  tr}"  this,  Goldmore." 
And  he  popped  a  fizzing  cutlet  on  that  gentleman's  plate. 
What  words,  what  notes  of  exclamation  can  describe  the  nabob's 
astonishment? 

The  tablecloth  was  a  very  old  one,  darned  in  a  score  of 
places.  There  was  mustard  in  a  teacup,  a  silver  fork  for  Gold- 
more  —  all  ours  were  iron. 

''I  wasn't  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  my  mouth,"  says 
Gray,  gravelj'.  That  fork  is  the  only  one  we  have.  Fanny 
has  it  generall}'." 

"  Raymond  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Gra}^  with  an  imploring  face. 

"  She  was  used  to  better  things,  you  know :  and  I  hope  one 
day  to  get  her  a  dinner-service.  I'm  told  the  electro-plate  is 
uncommonh^  good.  Where  the  deuce  is  that  boy  with  the  beer? 
And  now,"  said  he,  springing  up,  "  I'll  be  a  gentleman."  And 
so  he  put  on  his  coat,  and  sat  down  quite  gravel}^  with  four 
fresh  mutton-chops  which  he  had  b}^  this  time  broiled. 

"We  don't  have  meat  every  da}',  Mr.  Goldmore,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  it's  a  treat  to  me  to  get  a  dinner  like  this.  You 
little  know,  3'ou  gentlemen  of  England,  who  live  at  home  at 
ease,  what  hardships  briefless  barristers  endure." 

"  Gracious  merc}^ !  "  says  Mr.  Goldmore. 

"  Where's  the  half  and  half?  Fann}',  go  over  to  the  '  Keys' 
and  get  the  beer.  Here's  sixpence."  And  what  was  our  aston- 
ishment when  Fanny  got  up  as  if  to  go  ! 

"  Gracious  merc}^ !  let  /7?e,"  cries  Goldmore. 

"Not  for  worlds,  my  dear  sir.  She's  used  to  it.  They 
wouldn't  serve  you  as  well  as  they  serve  her.  Leave  her  alone. 
Law  bless  you  ! "  Raymond  said,  with  astounding  composure. 
And  Mrs.  Gray  left  the  room,  and  actually  came  back  with  a 
tra}^  on  which  there  was  a  pewter  flagon  of  beer.  Little  Poll}^ 
(to  whom,  at  her  christening,  I  had  the  honor  of  presenting  a 
silver  mug  ex  officio)  following  witli  a  couple  of  tobacco-pipes, 
and  the  queerest  roguish  look  in  her  round  little  chubby 
face. 

"  Did  you  speak  to  Tapling  about  the  gin,  Fann}',  my  dear?  " 
Gra}'  asked,  after  bidding  Polly  put  the  i)ipes  on  the  chimnej"- 
piece,  which  that  little  person  had  some  difficult}'  in  reaching. 
"  The  last  was  turpentine,  and  even  your  brewing  didn't  make 
good  [)unch  of  it." 

"  You  would  hardly  suspect,  Goldmore,  that  my  wife,  a 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


395 


Harley  Baker,  would  ever  make  gin-punch  ?  I  think  my  mother- 
in-law  would  commit  suicide  if  she  saw  her." 

"Don't  be  always  laughing  at  mamma,  Raymond,"  says 
Mrs.  Gray. 

"Well,  well,  she  wouldn't  die,  and  I  don't  wish  she  would. 
And  3'ou  don't  make  gin-punch,  and  you  don't  like  it  either  — 
and  —  Goldmore,  do  you  drink  your  beer  out  of  the  glass,  or 
out  of  the  pewter?  " 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  "  ejaculates  Croesus  once  more,  as  little 
Poll}^  taking  the  pot  with  both  her  little  bunches  of  hands, 
offers  it,  smiling,  to  that  astonished  Director. 

And  so,  in  a  word,  the  dinner  commenced,  and  was  pres- 
ently ended  in  a  similar  fashion.  Gray  pursued  his  unfortunate 
guest  with  the  most  queer  and  outrageous  description  of  his 
struggles,  misery,  and  poverty.  He  described  how  he  cleaned 
the  knives  when  they  were  first  married  ;  and  how  he  used  to 
drag  the  children  in  a  little  cart ;  how  his  wife  could  toss  pan- 
cakes ;  and  what  parts  of  his  dress  she  made.  He  told  Tibbits, 
his  clerk  (who  was  in  fact  the  functionary  who  had  brought  the 
beer  from  the  public-house,  which  Mrs.  Fann}^  had  fetched  from 
the  neighboring  apartment) — to  fetch  "the  bottle  of  port- 
wine,"  when  the  dinner  was  over ;  and  told  Goldmore  as  won- 
derful a  histor}^  about  the  wa}'  in  which  that  bottle  of  wine  had 
come  into  his  hands  as  any  of  his  former  stories  had  been. 
When  the  repast  was  all  over,  and  it  was  near  time  to  move  to 
the  play,  and  Mrs.  Gray  had  retired,  and  we  were  sitting 
ruminating  rather  silently  over  the  last  glasses  of  the  port, 
Gray  suddenl}"  breaks  the  silence  by  slapping  Goldmore  on 
the  shoulder,  and  saying,  "Now,  Goldmore,  tell  me  some- 
thing." 

"What?"  asks  Croesus. 

"  Haven't  \o\\  had  a  good  dinner?" 

Goldmore  started,  as  if  a  sudden  truth  had  just  dawned 
upon  him.  He  had  had  a  good  dinner ;  and  didn't  know  it 
until  then.  The  three  mutton  chops  consumed  b}^  him  were 
best  of  the  mutton  kind  ;  the  potatoes  were  perfect  of  their 
order;  as  for  the  rol^^-poly,  it  was  too  good.  The  porter  was 
frothy  and  cool,  and  the  port- wine  was  worth}'  of  the  gills  of  a 
bishop.  I  speak  with  ulterior  views  ;  for  there  is  more  in  Gra^^'s 
cellar. 

"Well,"  sa3's  Goldmore,  after  a  pause,  during  which  he 
took  time  to  consider  the  momentous  question  Gray  put  to 
him  —  " 'Pon  my  word  —  now  you  say  so  —  I  —  I  liave  —  I 
really  have  had  a  monsous  good  dinnah  —  nionsous  good, 


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THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


upon  my  ward !  Here's  your  health,  Gray  my  boy,  and  your 
amiable  lady ;  and  when  Mrs.  Goldmore  comes  back,  I  hope 
we  shall  see  you  more  in  Portland  Place."  And  with  this  the 
time  came  for  the  pla}^,  and  we  went  to  see  Mr.  Phelps  at 
Sadler's  Wells. 

The  best  of  this  stor}^  (for  the  truth  of  every  word  of  which 
I  pledge  my  honor)  is,  that  after  this  banquet,  which  Goldmore 
enjoyed  so,  the  honest  fellow  felt  a  prodigious  compassion  and 
regard  for  the  starving  and  miserable  giver  of  the  feast,  and  de- 
termined to  help  him  in  his  profession.  And  being  a  Director 
of  the  newly-established  Antibilious  Life  Assurance  Company, 
he  has  had  Gray  appointed  Standing  Counsel,  with  a  pretty 
annual  fee ;  and  only  yesterda}^,  in  an  appeal  from  Bomba}' 
(Buckmuckjee  Bobbachee  r.  Ramchowder-Bahawder)  in  the 
Privy  Council,  Lord  Brougham  complimented  Mr.  Gray,  who 
was  in  the  case,  on  his  curious  and  exact  knowledge  of  the 
Sanscrit  language. 

Whether  he  knows  Sanscrit  or  not,  I  can't  say  ;  but  Gold- 
more  got  him  the  business  ;  and  so  I  cannot  help  having  a 
lurking  regard  for  that  pompous  old  Bigwig. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SNOBS    AND  MARRIAGE. 

"We  Bachelors  in  Clubs  are  very  much  obliged  to  you," 
says  my  old  school  and  college  companion,  Essex  Temple,  "  for 
the  opinion  which  you  hold  of  us.  You  call  us  selfish,  purple- 
faced,  bloated,  and  other  prett}^  names.  You  state,  in  the 
simplest  possible  terms,  that  we  shall  go  to  the  deuce.  You 
bid  us  rot  in  loneliness,  and  den}^  us  all  claims  to  honesty,  con- 
duct, decent  Christian  life.  Who  are  you,  Mr.  Snob,  to  judge 
us  so?  Who  are  you,  with  3'our  infernal  benevolent  smirk  and 
grin,  that  laugh  at  all  our  generation? 

I  will  tell  you  my  case,"  says  Essex  Temple  ;  mine  and 
my  sister  Polly's,  and  you  ma}'  make  what  you  like  of  it ;  and 
sneer  at  old  maids,  and  bully  old  bachelors,  if  you  will. 

1  will  whisper  to  you  conlidentially  that  my  sister  Poll}'  was 
engaged  to  Serjeant  Shirker  —  a  fellow  whose  talents  one  can- 
not deny,  and  be  lianged  to  them,  but  whom  I  have  always 
known  to  be  mean,  selfish,  and  a  prig.    However,  women  don't 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


397 


see  these  faults  in  the  men  whom  Love  throws  in  their  wa}'. 
Shirker,  who  has  about  as  much  warmth  as  an  eel,  made  up  to 
Poll}^  years  and  >  ears  ago,  and  was  no  bad  match  for  a  briefless 
barrister,  as  he  was  then. 

Have  you  ever  read  Lord  Eldon's  Life  ?  Do  3^ou  remember 
how  the  sordid  old  Snob  narrates  his  going  out  to  purchase 
twopence-worth  of  sprats,  whicli  he  and  Mrs.  Scott  fried  between 
them?  And  how  he  parades  his  humiUt}',  and  exhibits  his 
miserable  poverty  —  he  who,  at  that  time,  must  have  been  mak- 
ing a  thousand  pounds  a  year?  Well,  Shirker  was  just  as 
proud  of  his  prudence  —  just  as  thankful  for  his  own  meanness, 
and  of  course  would  not  marry  without  a  competency.  Who 
so  honorable?  Polly  waited,  and  waited  faintly,  from  year  to 
year.  He  wasn't  sick  at  heart ;  his  passion  never  disturbed 
his  six  hours'  sleep,  or  kept  his  ambition  out  of  mind.  He 
would  rather  have  hugged  an  attorney  any  day  than  have  kissed 
Polly,  though  she  was  one  of  the  prettiest  creatures  in  the  world  ; 
and  while  she  was  pining  alone  up  stairs,  reading  over  the  stock 
of  half  a  dozen  frigid  letters  that  the  confounded  prig  had  con- 
descended to  write  to  her,  he^  be  sure,  was  never  busy  with 
anything  but  his  briefs  in  chambers  —  always  frigid,  rigid,  self- 
satisfied,  and  at  his  duty.  The  marriage  trailed  on  year  after 
3'ear,  while  Mr.  Serjeant  Shirker  grew  to  be  the  famous  lawyer 
he  is. 

Meanwhile,  my  younger  brother.  Pump  Temple,  who  was 
in  the  120th  Hussars,  and  had  the  same  little  patrimon}^  which 
fell  to  the  lot  of  myself  and  Polly,  must  fall  in  love  with  our 
cousin,  Fanny  Figtree,  and  marry  her  out  of  hand.  You  should 
have  seen  the  wedding !  Six  bridesmaids  in  pink,  to  hold  the 
fan,  bouquet,  gloves,  scent-bottle,  and  pocket-handkerchief  of 
the  bride  ;  basketfuls  of  white  favors  in  the  vestry,  to  be  pinned 
on  to  the  footmen  and  horses  ;  a  genteel  congregation  of  curious 
acquaintance  in  the  pews,  a  shabby  one  of  poor  on  the  steps  ; 
all  the  carriages  of  all  our  acquaintance,  whom  Aunt  Figtree 
had  levied  for  the  occasion  ;  and  of  course  four  horses  for  Mr. 
Pump's  bridal  vehicle. 

Then  comes  the  breakfast,  or  dejeuner^  if  you  please,  with 
a  brass  band  in  the  street,  and  policemen  to  keep  order.  The 
happy  bridegroom  spends  about  a  3'ear's  income  in  dresses  for 
the  bridesmaids  and  prett}^  presents  ;  and  the  bride  must  have 
a  trousseau  of  laces,  satins,  jewel-boxes  and  tomfoolery,  to  make 
her  fit  to  be  a  lieutenant's  wife.  There  was  no  hesitation  about 
Pump.  He  flung  about  his  money  as  if  it  had  been  dross  ;  and 
Mrs.  P.  Temple,  on  the  horse  Tom  Tiddler,  which  her  husband 


398 


THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 


gave  her,  was  the  most  dashing  of  militaiy  women  at  Brighton 
or  DubUn.  How  old  Mrs.  Figtree  used  to  bore  me  and  Polly 
with  stories  of  Pump's  grandeur  and  the  noble  company  he 
kept !  Polly  lives  with  the  Figtrees,  as  I  am  not  rich  enough 
to  keep  a  home  for  her. 

Pump  and  I  have  always  been  rather  distant.  Not  having 
the  slightest  notions  about  horseflesh,  he  has  a  natural  contempt 
for  me  ;  and  in  our  mother's  lifetime,  when  the  good  old  lady 
was  always  paying  his  debts  and  petting  him,  Pm  not  sure  there 
was  not  a  little  jealousy.  It  used  to  be  Polly  that  kept  the 
peace  between  us. 

She  went  to  Dublin  to  visit  Pump,  and  brought  back  grand 
accounts  of  his  doings  —  gayest  man  about  town  —  Aide-de- 
Camp  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant —  Fanny  admired  everywhere  — 
Her  Excellency  godmother  to  the  second  boy :  the  eldest  with 
a  string  of  aristocratic  Christian-names  that  made  the  grand- 
mother wild  with  delight.  Presently  Fanny  and  Pump  oblig- 
ingly came  over  to  London,  where  the  third  was  born. 

^'Poll}^  was  godmother  to  this,  and  who  so  loving  as  she 
and  Pump  now?  '  Oh,  Essex,'  says  she  to  me,  he  is  so  good, 
so  generous,  so  fond  of  his  famil}^ ;  so  handsome  ;  who  can  help 
loving  him,  and  pardoning  his  little  errors?'  One  da}',  while 
Mrs.  Pump  was  yet  in  the  upper  regions,  and  Doctor  Fingerfee's 
brouglmm  at  her  door  ever}'  day,  having  business  at  Guildhall, 
whom  should  I  meet  in  Cheapside  but  Pump  and  Polly?  The 
poor  girl  looked  more  happy  and  rosy  than  1  have  seen  her 
these  twelve  years.  Pump,  on  the  contrary,  was  rather  blush- 
ing and  embarrassed. 

I  couldn't  be  mistaken  in  her  face  and  its  look  of  mischief 
and  triumph.  She  had  been  committing  some  act  of  sacrifice. 
I  went  to  the  family  stockbroker.  She  had  sold  out  two 
thousand  pounds  that  morning  and  given  them  to  Pump. 
Quarrelling  was  useless.  Pump  had  the  money  ;  he  was  off  to 
Dublin  by  the  time  1  reached  his  mother's,  and  Polly  radiant 
still.  He  was  going  to  make  his  fortune  ;  he  was  going  to  em- 
bark the  money  in  the  Bog  of  Allen  —  1  don't  know  what.  The 
fact  is,  he  was  going  to  pay  his  losses  upon  the  last  Manchester 
steeple-chase,  and  1  leave  you  to  imagine  how  much  principal 
or  interest  poor  Polly  ever  saw  back  again. 

"  It  was  more  than  half  her  fortune,  and  he  has  had  another 
thousand  since  from  her.  Then  came  efforts  to  stave  off  ruin 
and  prevent  exposure  ;  struggles  on  all  our  i)arts,  and  sacrifices, 
that"  (here  Mr.  Essex  Temple  began  to  hesitate)  —  ''that 
needn't  be  talked  of ;  but  they  arc  of  no  more  use  than  such 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


399 


sacrifices  ever  are.  Pump  and  his  wife  are  abroad  —  I  don't 
like  to  ask  where ;  Poll}'  has  the  three  children,  and  Mr.  Sar- 
jeant  Shirker  has  formall}'  written  to  break  off  an  engagement, 
on  the  conclusion  of  which  Miss  Temple  must  herself  have 
speculated,  when  she  alienated  the  greater  part  of  her  fortune. 

"  And  here's  3'our  famous  theory  of  poor  marriages  !  "  Essex 
Temple  cries,  concluding  the  above  histor}^  ^'How  do  you 
know  that  I  don't  want  to  marry  m3'self  ?  How  do  you  dare 
sneer  at  my  poor  sister?  What  are  we  but  martyrs  of  the 
reckless  marriage  system  which  Mr.  Snob,  forsooth,  chooses  to 
advocate  ?  "  And  he  thought  he  had  the  better  of  the  argument, 
which,  strange  to  say,  is  not  m}^  opinion. 

But  for  the  infernal  Snob-worship,  might  not  every  one  of 
these  people  be  happ}'?  If  poor  Polly's  happiness  lay  in  link- 
ing her  tender  arms  round  such  a  heartless  prig  as  the  sneak  who 
has  deceived  her,  she  might  have  been  happ}-  now  —  as  happy 
as  Ra^'mond  Raymond  in  the  ballad,  with  the  stone  statue  by 
his  side.  She  is  wretched  because  Mr.  Serjeant  Shirker  wor- 
ships mone}"  and  ambition,  and  is  a  Snob  and  a  coward. 

If  the  unfortunate  Pump  Temple  and  his  gidd}'  hussy  of  a 
wife  have  ruined  themselves,  and  dragged  down  others  into 
their  calamity,  it  is  because  the}'  loved  rank,  and  horses,  and 
plate,  and  carriages,  and  Court  Guides,  and  milliner}',  and  would 
sacrifice  all  to  attain  those  objects. 

And  who  misguides  them?  If  the  world  were  more  simple, 
would  not  those  foolish  people  follow  the  fashion  ?  Does  not  the 
world  love  Court  Guides^  and  millinery  and  plate,  and  carriages? 
Mercy  on  us !  Read  the  fashionable  intelligence  ;  read  the 
Court  Circular  ;  read  the  genteel  novels  ;  survey  mankind,  from 
Pimlico  to  Red  Lion  Square,  and  see  how  tlie  Poor  Snob  is 
aping  the  Rich  Snob ;  how  the  Mean  Snob  is  grovelling  at  the 
feet  of  the  Proud  Snob  ;  and  the  Great  Snob  is  lording  it  over 
his  humble  brother.  Does  the  idea  of  equality  ever  enter  Dives's 
head?  Will  it  ever?  Will  the  Duchess  of  Fitzbattleaxe  (I 
like  a  good  name)  ever  believe  that  Lady  Croesus,  her  next- 
door  neighbor  in  Belgrave  Square,  is  as  good  a  lady  as  her 
Grace?  Will  Lady  Croesus  ever  leave  off  pining 'for  the 
Duchess's  parties,  and  cease  patronizing  Mrs.  Broadcloth, 
whose  husband  has  not  got  his  Baronetcy  yet?  Will  Mrs. 
Broadcloth  ever  heartily  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Seedy,  and 
give  up  those  odious  calculations  about  poor  dear  Mrs.  Seedy's 
income?  Will  Mrs.  Seedy,  who  is  starving  in  her  great  house, 
go  and  Uve  comfortably  in  a  little  one,  or  in  lodgings?  Will 
her  landlady.  Miss  Letsam,  ever  stop  wondering  at  the  farail- 


400 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


iarity  of  tradespeople,  or  rebuking  the  insolence  of  Suk}^  the 
maid,  who  wears  flowers  under  her  bonnet,  like  a  lady  ? 

But  why  hope,  why  wish  for  such  times?  Do  I  wish  all 
Snobs  to  perish  ?  Do  I  wish  these  Snob  papers  to  determine  ? 
Suicidal  fool,  art  not  thou,  too,  a  Snob  and  a  brother. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

As  I  wish  to  be  particularly  agreeable  to  the  ladies  (to  whom 
I  make  my  most  humble  obeisance),  we  will  now,  if  you  please, 
commence  maligning  a  class  of  Snobs  against  whom,  I  believe, 
most  female  minds  are  embittered,  —  I  mean  Club  Snobs.  I 
have  ver}'  seldom  heard  even  the  most  gentle  and  placable 
woman  speak  without  a  little  feeling  of  bitterness  against  those 
social  institutions,  those  palaces  swaggering  in  St.  James's, 
which  are  open  to  the  men  ;  while  the  ladies  have  but  their 
dingy  three-windowed  brick  boxes  in  Belgravia  or  in  Padding- 
tonia,  or  in  the  region  between  the  road  of  Edgeware  and  that 
of  Gra3''s  Inn. 

In  my  grandfather's  time  it  used  to  be  Freemasonry  that 
roused  their  anger.  It  was  my  grand-aunt  (whose  portrait  we 
still  have  in  the  famil}^)  who  got  into  the  clock-case  at  the 
Royal  Rosicrucian  Lodge  at  Bunga}^  Suffolk,  to  sp}^  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  Societ}^,  of  which  her  husband  was  a  member, 
and  being  frightened  b}^  the  sudden  whirring  and  striking  eleven 
of  the  clock  (just  as  the  Deput^'-G rand-Master  was  bringing  in 
the  mystic  gridiron  for  the  reception  of  a  neoph3'te),  rushed 
out  into  the  midst  of  the  lodge  assembled  ;  and  was  elected,  b}^ 
a  desperate  unanimit}^,  Deputy-Grand-Mistress  for  life.  Though 
that  admirable  and  courageous  female  never  subsequently 
breathed  a  word  with  regard  to  the  secrets  of  the  initiation,  yet 
she  inspired  all  our  family  with  such  a  terror  regarding  the 
mysteries  of  Jachin  and  Boaz,  that  none  of  our  family  have 
ever  since  joined  the  Society,  or  worn  the  dreadful  Masonic 
insignia. 

It  is  known  that  Orpheus  was  torn  to  pieces  by  some  justlv 
indignant  Thracian  ladies  for  belonging  to  an  Harmonic  Lodge. 
"  Let  him  go  back  to  Eurydice,"  tliey  said,  "  whom  he  is  pre- 
tending to  regret  so."    But  the  history  is  given  in  Dr.  Lem- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


401 


priere's  elegant  dictionary  in  a  manner  much  more  forcible 
than  any  which  this  feeble  pen  can  attempt.  At  once,  then, 
and  without  verbiage,  let  us  take  up  this  subject-matter  of 
Clubs. 

Clubs  ought  not,  in  my  mind,  to  be  permitted  to  bachelors. 
If  m}'  friend  of  the  Cuttykilts  had  not  our  Club,  the  ''Union 
Jack,"  to  go  to  (I  belong  to  the  ''U.  J."  and  nine  other  similar 
institutions),  who  knows  but  he  never  would  be  a  bachelor  at 
this  present  moment?  Instead  of  being  made  comfortable,  and 
cockered  up  with  every  luxury,  as  they  are  at  Clubs,  bachelors 
ought  to  be  rendered  profoundlj^  miserable,  in  m}^  opinion. 
Ever}^  encouragement  should  be  given  to  the  rendering  their 
spare  time  disagreeable.  There  can  be  no  more  odious  object, 
according  to  m}^  sentiments,  than  3'oung  Smith,  in  the  pride  of 
health,  commanding  his  dinner  of  three  courses  ;  than  middle- 
aged  Jones  wallowing  (as  I  may  say)  in  an  eas}'  padded  arm- 
chair, over  the  last  delicious  novel  or  brilliant  magazine  ;  or 
than  old  Brown,  that  selfish  old  reprobate  for  whom  mere  lit- 
erature has  no  charms,  stretched  on  the  best  sofa,  sitting  on 
the  second  edition  of  The  Times ^  having  the  Morning  Chronicle 
between  his  knees,  the  Herald  pushed  in  between  his  coat  and 
waistcoat,  the  Standard  under  his  left  arm,  the  Globe  under  the 
other  pinion,  and  the  Daily  News  in  perusal.  "  I'll  trouble 
3^ou  for  Punchy  Mr.  Wiggins,"  sa3's  the  unconscionable  old 
gormandizer,  interrupting  our  friend,  who  is  laughing  over  the 
periodical  in  question. 

This  kind  of  selfishness  ought  not  to  be.  No,  no.  Young 
Smith,  instead  of  his  dinner  and  his  wine,  ought  to  be,  where? 
—  at  the  festive  tea-table,  to  be  sure,  b}'  the  side  of  Miss  Higgs, 
sipping  the  bohea,  or  tasting  the  harmless  muffin  ;  while  old 
Mrs.  Higgs  looks  on,  pleased  at  their  innocent  dalliance,  and 
mj^'friend  Miss  Wirt,  the  governess,  is  performing  Thalberg's 
last  sonata  in  treble  X.,  totally  unheeded,  at  the  piano. 

Where  should  the  middle-aged  Jones  be?  At  his  time  of 
life,  he  ought  to  be  the  father  of  a  famih'.  At  such  an  hour  — 
say,  at  nhie  o'clock  at  night  —  the  nursery-bell  should  have  just 
rung  the  children  to  bed.  He  and  Mrs.  J.  ought  to  be,  by 
rights,  seated  on  each  side  of  the  fire  by  the  dining-room  table, 
a  bottle  of  port- wine  between  them,  not  so  full  as  it  was  an  hour 
since.  Mrs.  J.  has  had  two  glasses  ;  Mrs.  Grumble  (Jones's 
mother-in-law)  has  had  three  :  Jones  himself  has  finished  the 
rest,  and  dozes  comfortabh^  until  bedtime. 

And  Brown,  that  old  newspaper-devouring  miscreant,  what 
right  has  he  at  a  club  at  a  decent  hour  of  night?    He  ought  to 

26 


402 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


be  plajing  his  rubber  with  Miss  MacWhirter,  his  wife,  and  the 
family  apothecary.  His  candle  ought  to  be  brought  to  him  at 
ten  o'clock,  and  he  should  retire  to  rest  just  as  the  young  peo- 
ple were  thinking  of  a  dance.  How  much  finer,  simpler,  nobler, 
are  the  several  employments  I  have  sketched  out  for  these  gen- 
tlemen than  their  present  nightly  orgies  at  the  horrid  Club. 

And,  ladies,  think  of  men  who  do  not  merely  frequent  the 
dining-room  and  librarj^  but  who  use  other  apartments  of  those 
horrible  dens  which  it  is  my  purpose  to  batter  down ;  think  of 
Cannon,  the  wretch,  with  his  coat  off,  at  his  age  and  size,  clat- 
tering the  balls  over  the  billiard-table  all  night,  and  making 
bets  with  that  odious  Captain  Spot !  —  think  of  Pam  in  a  dark 
room  with  Bob  Trumper,  Jack  Deuceace,  and  Charley  Vole, 
playing,  the  poor  dear  misguided  wretch,  guinea  points  and  five 
pounds  on  the  rubber! — above  all,  think  —  oh,  think  of  that 
den  of  abomination,  which,  I  am  told,  has  been  estabhshed  in 
some  clubs,  called  the  Smoking-Room^  —  think  of  the  debauchees 
who  congregate  there,  the  quantities  of  reeking  whiskey-punch 
or  more  dangerous  sherry-cobbler  which  the}'  consume  ;  —  think 
of  them  coming  home  at  cock-crow  and  letting  themselves  into 
the  quiet  house  with,  the  Chubb  key  ;  —  think  of  them,  the  hypo- 
crites, taking  off  their  insidious  boots  before  they  slink  up  stairs^ 
the  children  sleeping  overhead,  the  wife  of  their  bosom  alone 
with  the  waning  rushUght  in  the  two-pair  front  —  that  chamber 
so  soon  to  be  rendered  hateful  by  the  smell  of  their  stale  cigai^  ! 
I  am  not  an  advocate  of  violence  ;  I  am  not,  b}^  nature,  of  an 
incendiary  turn  of  mind ;  but  if,  m}^  dear  ladies,  3^ou  are  for 
assassinating  Mr.  Chubb  and  burning  down  the  Club-houses  in 
St.  James's,  there  is  one  Snob  at  least  who  will  not  think  the 
worse  of  you. 

The  only  men  who,  as  I  opine,  ought  to  be  allowed  the  use 
of  Clubs,  are  married  men  without  a  profession.  The  continual 
presence  of  these  in  a  house  cannot  be  thought,  even  by  the 
most  uxorious  of  wives,  desirable.  Sa}^  the  girls  are  beginning 
to  practise  their  music,  which,  in  an  honorable  English  family, 
ought  to  occupy  ever}'  young  gentlewoman  three  hours  ;  it 
would  be  rather  hard  to  call  upon  poor  papa  to  sit  in  the  draw- 
ing-room all  that  time,  and  listen  to  the  interminable  discords 
and  shrieks  which  arc  elicited  from  the  miserable  piano  dur- 
ing the  above  necessary  oi)eration.  A  man  with  a  good  ear, 
especially,  would  go  mad,  if  compelled  daily  to  submit  to  this 
horror. 

Or  suppose  you  have  a  fancy  to  go  to  the  milliner's,  or  to 
Howell  and  James's,  it  is  manifest,  my  dear  Madam,  that  your 


THE  BOOK  OF  S^sTOBS. 


403 


husband  is  much  better  at  the  Club  during  these  operations 
than  by  your  side  in  the  carriage,  or  perched  in  wonder  upon 
one  of  the  stools  at  Shawl  and  Gimcrack's,  whilst  young  coun- 
ter-dandies are  displaying  their  wares. 

This  sort  of  husbands  should  be  sent  out  after  breakfast, 
and  if  not  Members  of  Parliament,  or  Directors  of  a  Raih'oad, 
or  an  Insurance  Compan}-,  should  be  put  into  their  Clubs,  and 
told  to  remain  there  until  dinner-time.  No  sight  is  more  agree- 
able to  ni}^  truly  well-regulated  mind  than  to  see  the  noble 
characters  so  worthily  employed.  Whenever  I  pass  by  St. 
James's  Street,  having  the  privilege,  like  the  rest  of  the  world, 
of  looking  in  at  the  windows  of  Blight's,"  or  Foodie's,"  or 
Snook's,"  or  the  great  bay  at  the  ''Contemplative  Club,"  I 
behold  with  respectful  appreciation  the  figures  within  —  the 
honest  rosy  old  fogies,  the  mouldy  old  dandies,  the  waist-belts 
and  glossy  wigs  and  tight  cravats  of  those  most  vacuous  and 
respectable  men.  Such  men  are  best  there  during  the  da}'- 
time  surel3\  When  3^ou  part  with  them,  dear  ladies,  think  of 
the  rapture  consequent  on  their  return.  You  have  transacted 
your  household  affairs  ;  you  have  made  your  purchases ;  you 
have  paid  your  visits  ;  you  have  aired  your  poodle  in  the  Park  ; 
your  French  maid  has  completed  the  toilette  which  renders  you 
so  ravishingly  beautiful  b^^  candlelight,  and  you  are  fit  to  make 
home  pleasant  to  him  who  has  been  absent  all  day. 

Such  men  surely  ought  to  have  their  Clubs,  and  we  will  not 
class  them  among  Club  Snobs  therefore :  —  on  whom  let  us 
reserve  our  attack  for  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

Such  a  sensation  has  been  created  in  the  Clubs  by  the 
appearance  of  the  last  paper  on  Club  Snobs,  as  can't  but  be 
complimentary  to  me  who  am  one  of  their  number. 

I  belong  to  many  Clubs.  The  ''Union  Jack,"  the  "  Sash 
and  Marlin-spike "— Military  Clubs.  "The  True  Blue,"  the 
"No  Surrender,"  the  "Blue  and  Buff,"  the  '^Guv  Fawkes," 
and  the  "  Cato  Street "  — Political  Clubs.  The  "'Brummell" 
and  the  "  Regent "— Dandy  Clubs.  The  "Acropolis,"  the 
"  Palladium,"  the  "  Areopagus,"  the  "  Pnyx,"  the  "  Pentelicus," 


404 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


the  "  nissus,"  and  the  ' '  Poluphloisboio  Thalasses  "  —  Literary 
Clubs.  I  never  could  make  out  how  the  latter  set  of  Clubs 
got  their  names  ;  /  don't  know  Greek  for  one,  and  I  wonder 
how  man}^  other  members  of  those  institutions  do  ? 

Ever  since  the  Club  Snobs  have  been  announced,  I  observe 
a  sensation  created  on  my  entrance  into  any  one  of  these  places. 
Members  get  up  and  hustle  together ;  they  nod,  they  scowl, 
as  they  glance  towards  the  present  Snob.  Infernal  impudent 
jackanapes  !  If  he  shows  me  up,''  says  Colonel  Bludyer,  I'll 
break  every  bone  in  his  skin."  "  I  told  you  what  would  come 
of  admitting  literary  men  into  the  Club,"  sa^'s  Ranville  Ranville 
to  his  colleague.  Spooney,  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing-Wax 
Office.  ''These  people  are  Yery  well  in  their  proper  places, 
and  as  a  public  man,  I  make  a  point  of  shaking  hands  with 
them,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  to  have  one's  privacy  ob- 
truded upon  by  such  people  is  really  too  much.  Come  along, 
Spooney,"  and  the  pair  of  prigs  retire  superciliously. 

As  I  came  into  the  coffee-room  at  the  "  No  Surrender,"  old 
Jawkins  was  holding  out  to  a  knot  of  men,  who  were  3'awning, 
as  usual.  There  he  stood,  waving  the  Standard^  and  swagger- 
ing before  the  fire.  ''What,"  says  he,  "did  I  tell  Peel  last 
year?  If  you  touch  the  Corn  Laws,  you  touch  the  Sugar 
Question  ;  if  you  touch  the  Sugar  you  touch  the  Tea.  I  am  no 
monopolist.  I  am  a  liberal  man,  but  I  cannot  forget  that  I 
stand  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  ;  and  if  we  are  to  have  Free 
Trade,  give  me  reciprocity.  And  what  was  Sir  Robert  Peel's 
answer  to  me?    '  Mr.  Jawkins,'  he  said  —  " 

Here  Jawkins's  eye  suddenly  turning  on  3'our  humble  ser- 
vant, he  stopped  his  sentence,  with  a  guilty  look  —  his  stale 
old  stupid  sentence, which  every  one  of  us  at  the  Club  has  heard 
over  and  over  again. 

Jawkins  is  a  most  pertinacious  Club  Snob.  Every  day  he 
is  at  that  fireplace,  holding  that  Standard,  of  which  he  reads 
up  the  leading  article,  and  pours  it  out  ore  rotundo,  with  the 
most  astonishhig  composure,  in  the  face  of  his  neighbor,  who 
has  just  read  every  word  of  it  in  the  paper.  Jawkins  has 
money,  as  you  may  see  by  the  tie  of  his  neck-cloth.  He  passes 
the  morning  swaggering  about  the  City,  in  bankers'  and  bro- 
kers' parlors,  and  says  :  —  "  I  spoke  with  Peel  yesterday,  and 
his  intentions  are  so  and  so.  Graham  and  I  were  talking  over 
the  matter,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honor,  his  opinion 
coincides  with  mine  ;  and  that  What-d'ye-cidrum  is  the  only 
measure  Government  will  venture  on  trying."  By  evening- 
paper  time  he  is  at  the  Club:  "  I  can  tell  you  the  opinion  of 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


405 


the  City,  m}^  lord,"  says  he,  and  the  way  in  which  Jones 
Lo3'd  looks  at  it  is  briefly  this  ;  Rothschilds  told  me  so  them- 
selves. In  Mark  Lane,  people's  mind  are  quite  made  up."  He 
is  considered  rather  a  well-informed  man. 

He  lives  in  Belgravia,  of  course  ;  in  a  drab-colored  genteel 
house,  and  has  everything  about  him  that  is  properly  grave, 
dismal,  and  comfortable.  His  dinners  are  in  the  Morning 
Herald^  among  the  parties  for  the  week ;  and  his  wife  and 
daughters  make  a  very  handsome  appearance  at  the  Drawing- 
room  once  a  3^ear,  when  he  comes  down  to  the  Club  in  his 
Deputy- Lieutenant's  uniform. 

He  is  fond  of  beginning  a  speech  to  you  by  sa3ing,  When 
I  was  in  the  House,  1  &c."  —  in  fact  he  sat  for  Skittlebur}^  for 
three  weeks  in  the  first  Reformed  Parliament,  and  was  unseated 
for  bribery ;  since  which  he  has  three  times  unsuccessfully  con- 
tested that  honorable  borough. 

Another  sort  of  Political  Snob  I  have  seen  at  most  Clubs, 
and  that  is  the  man  who  does  not  care  so  much  for  home  poli- 
tics, but  is  great  upon  foreign  affairs.  I  think  this  sort  of 
man  is  scarcely  found  anywhere  hut  in  Clubs.  It  is  for  him 
the  papers  provide  their  foreign  articles,  at  the  expense  of  some 
ten  thousand  a-3^ear  each.  He  is  the  man  who  is  really  seri- 
ously^ uncomfortable  about  the  designs  of  Russia,  and  the  atro- 
cious treachery  of  Louis  Philippe.  He  it  is  who  expects  a 
French  fleet  in  the  Thames,  and  has  a  constant  eye  upon  the 
American  President,  every  word  of  whose  speech  (goodness 
help  him  !)  he  reads.  He  knows  the  names  of  the  contending 
leaders  in  Portugal,  and  what  they  are  fighting  about :  and  it 
is  he  who  says  that  Lord  Aberdeen  ought  to  be  impeached,  and 
Lord  Palmerston  hanged,  or  vice  versa. 

Lord  Palmerston's  being  sold  to  Russia,  the  exact  number 
of  roubles  paid,  hy  what  house  in  the  City,  is  a  favorite  theme 
with  this  kind  of  Snob.  I  once  overheard  him  —  it  was  Cap- 
tain Spitfire,  R.N.,  (who  had  been  refused  a  ship  by  the 
Whigs,  by  the  way)  —  indulging  in  the  following  conversation 
with  Mr.  Minns  after  dinner  ;  — 

Why  wasn't  the  Princess  ScragamoflTsky  at  Lady  Palmer- 
ston's party,  Minns  ?  Because  she  can't  show  —  and  why  can't 
she  show?  Shall  I  tell  you,  Minns,  why  she  can't  show?  The 
Princess  ScragamoflTsky' s  back  is  flayed  alive,  Minns  — I  tell 
you  it's  raw,  sir !  On  Tuesday  last,  at  twelve  o'clock,  three 
drummers  of  the  Preobajinski  Regiment  arrived  at  Ashburnham 
House,  and  at  half-past  twelve,  in  the  yellow  drawing-room 
at  the  Russian  Embassy,  before  the  ambassadress  ami  four 


406 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


ladies' -maids,  the  Greek  Papa,  and  the  Secretaiy  of  Embassy, 
Madame  de  Seragamoffsk}^  received  thirteen  dozen.  She  was 
knouted,  sir,  knouted  in  the  midst  of  England  —  in  Berkeley 
Square,  for  having  said  that  the  Grand  Duchess  Olga's  hair 
was  red.  And  now,  sir,  will  you  tell  me  Lord  Palmerston 
ought  to  continue  Minister  ?  " 
Minns:  ''Good  Ged  !  " 

Minns  follows  Spitfire  about,  and  thinks  him  the  greatest 
and  wisest  of  human  beings. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

Why  does  not  some  great  author  write  ''The  Mysteries  of 
the  Club-houses  ;  or  St.  James's  Street  unveiled.''  It  would  be 
a  fine  subject  for  an  imaginative  writer.  We  must  all,  as  boys, 
remember  when  we  went  to  the  fair,  and  had  spent  all  our 
money  —  the  sort  of  awe  and  anxiety  with  which  we  loitered 
round  the  outside  of  the  show,  speculating  upon  the  nature  of 
the  entertainment  going  on  within. 

Man  is  a  Drama  —  of  Wonder  and  Passion,  and  Mystery 
and  Meanness,  and  Beauty  and  Truthfulness,  and  Etcetera. 
Each  Bosom  is  a  Booth  in  Vanit}^  Fair.  But  let  us  stop  this 
capital  style,  I  should  die  if  I  kept  it  up  for  a  column  (a  pretty 
thing  a  column  all  capitals  would  be,  by  the  w^aj').  In  a  Club, 
though  there  mayn't  be  a  soul  of  your  acquaintance  in  the  room, 
3^ou  have  always  the  chance  of  watching  strangers,  and  specu- 
lating on  what  is  going  on  within  those  tents  and  curtains  of 
their  souls,  their  coats  and  waistcoats.  This  is  a  never-failing 
sport.  Indeed  I  am  told  there  are  some  Clubs  in  the  town 
where  nobod}'  ever  speaks  to  anybody.  They  sit  in  the  coffee- 
room,  quite  silent,  and  watching  each  other. 

Yet  how  little  you  can  tell  from  a  man's  outward  demeanor ! 
There's  a  man  at  our  Club  —  large,  heav}^  middle-aged  —  gor- 
geously dressed  —  rather  bald  —  with  lacquered  boots  —  and 
a  boa  when  he  goes  out ;  quiet  in  demeanor,  always  ordering 
and  consuming  a  recherche  little  dinner :  whom  I  have  mistaken 
for  Sir  John  Pocklington  an}^  time  these  five  years,  and  re- 
spected as  a  man  with  five  hundred  pounds  per  diem ;  and  I 
find  he  is  but  a  clerk  in  an  office  in  the  City,  with  not  two  hun- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


407 


dred  pounds  income,  and  his  name  is  Jubber.  Sir  John  Pock- 
Hngton  was,  on  the  contraiy,  the  dirt}^  little  snuffy  man  who 
cried  out  so  about  the  bad  quality  of  the  beer,  and  grumbled  at 
being  overcharged  three-half-pence  for  a  herring,  seated  at  the 
next  table  to  Jubber  on  the  day  when  some  one  pointed  the 
Baronet  out  to  me. 

Take  a  different  sort  of  mj^stery.  I  see,  for  instance,  old 
Fawney  stealing  round  the  rooms  of  the  Club,  with  glassy, 
meaningless  ej^es,  and  an  endless  greasy  simper  —  he  fawns  on 
everybody  he  meets,  and  shakes  hands  with  3'Ou,  and  blesses 
you,  and  betrays  the  most  tender  and  astonishing  interest  in 
3^our  welfare.  You  know  him  to  be  a  quack  and  a  rogue,  and 
he  knows  you  know  it.  But  he  wriggles  on  his  wa}^  and  leaves 
a  track  of  slimy  flatter}^  after  him  wherever  he  goes.  Who  can 
penetrate  that  man's  myster}^?  What  earthly  good  can  he  get 
from  you  or  me  ?  You  don't  know  what  is  working  under  that 
leering  tranquil  mask.  You  have  only  the  dim  instinctive  re- 
pulsion that  warns  you,  you  are  in  the  presence  of  a  knave  — 
bej^ond  which  fact  all  Fawney 's  soul  is  a  secret  to  3^ou. 

I  think  1  Uke  to  speculate  on  the  young  men  best.  Their 
play  is  opener.  You  know  the  cards  in  their  hand,  as  it  were. 
Take,  for  example,  Messrs.  Spavin  and  Cockspur. 

A  specimen  or  two  of  the  above  sort  of  3'oung  fellows 
ma}'  be  found,  I  believe,  at  most  Clubs.  They  know  nobod3\ 
The3'  bring  a  fine  smell  of  cigars  into  the  room  with  them,  and 
the3'  growl  together  in  a  corner,  about  sporting  matters.  The3^ 
recollect  the  history  of  that  short  period  in  which  the3^  have 
been  ornaments  of  the  world  b3^  the  names  of  winning  horses. 
As  political  men  talk  about  the  reform  3^ear,"  the  year  the 
Whigs  went  out,"  and  so  forth,  these  3'Oung  sporting  bucks 
speak  of  Tarnation's  3'ear,  or  Opodeldoc's  3^ear,  or  the  3'ear  when 
Catawampus  ran  second  for  the  Chester  Cup.  They  play  at 
billiards  in  the  morning,  the3^  absorb  pale  ale  for  breakfast,  and 
top  up"  with  glasses  of  strong  waters.  The3'  read  BelVs  Life 
(and  a  very  pleasant  paper  too,  with  a  great  deal  of  erudition 
in  the  answers  to  correspondents).  The3^  go  down  to  Tatter- 
sail's,  and  swagger  in  the  Park,  with  their  hands  plunged  in 
the  pockets  of  their  paletots. 

What  strikes  me  especiall3'  in  the  outward  demeanor  of 
sporting  3^outh  is  their  amazing  gravit3',  their  conciseness  of 
speech,  and  care-worn  and  mood3'  air.  In  the  smoking-room 
at  the  Regent,"  when  Joe  Millerson  will  be  setting  the  whole 
room  in  a  roar  with  laughter,  you  hear  3  oung  Messrs.  Spa\in 
and  Cockspur  grumbling  together  in  a  corner.       I'll  take  3'our 


408 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


five-and-twent}^  to  one  about  Brother  to  Bluenose,"  whispers 
Spavin.  Can't  do  it  at  the  price/'  Cockspur  sa3's,  wagging 
his  head  ominously.  The  betting-book  is  alwa3's  present  in 
the  minds  of  those  unfortunate  youngsters.  I  think  I  hate  that 
work  even  more  than  the  Peerage."  There  is  some  good  in 
the  latter  —  though,  generally  speaking,  a  vain  record:  though 
De  Mogyns  is  not  descended  from  the  giant  Hogyn  Mogj'u  ; 
though  half  the  other  genealogies  are  equall}-  false  and  foolish  ; 
yet  the  mottoes  are  good  reading  —  some  of  them  ;  and  the 
book  itself  a  sort  of  gold-laced  and  liveried  lackey  to  History, 
and  in  so  far  serviceable.  Bat  what  good  ever  came  out  of,  or 
went  into,  a  betting-book?  If  I  could  be  Caliph  Omar  for  a 
week,  I  would  pitch  every  one  of  those  despicable  manuscripts 
into  the  flames  ;  from  my  Lord's,  who  is  in  "  with  Jack  Snaffle's 
stable,  and  is  over-reaching  worse-informed  rogues  and  swin- 
dling greenhorns,  down  to  Sam's  the  butcher-boy's,  who  books 
eighteenpenny  odds  in  the  tap-room,  and  stands  to  win  five- 
and-twent\'  bob." 

In  a  turf  transaction,  either  Spavin  or  Cockspur  would  try 
to  get  the  better  of  his  father,  and,  to  gain  a  point  in  the  odds, 
victimize  his  best  friends.  One  day  we  shall  hear  of  one  or 
other  levanting ;  an  event  at  which,  not  being  sporting  men, 
we  shall  not  break  our  hearts.  See  —  Mr.  Spavin  is  settling 
his  toilette  previous  to  departure  ;  giving  a  curl  in  the  glass  to 
his  side-wisps  of  hair.  Look  at  him  !  It  is  onl}^  at  the  hulks, 
or  among  turf-men,  that  you  ever  see  a  face  so  mean,  so  know- 
ing, and  so  gloomy. 

A  much  more  humane  being  among  the  j^outhful  Clubbists  is 
the  Lady-killing  Snob.  I  saw  Wiggle  just  now  in  the  dressing- 
room,  talking  to  Waggle,  his  inseparable. 

Waggle,  —  "  'Pon  my  honor.  Wiggle,  she  did." 

Wiggle.  —  "  Well,  Waggle,  as  you  sa}'  — I  own  I  think  she 
DID  look  at  me  rather  kindly.  We'll  see  to-night  at  the  French 
play.'' 

And  having  arrayed  their  little  persons,  those  two  harmless 
young  bucks  go  up  stairs  to  dinner. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


409 


CHAPTER  XL. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

Both  sorts  of  J'oung  men,  mentioned  in  ray  last  under  the 
flippant  names  of  Wiggle  and  Waggle,  may  be  found  in  toler- 
able plenty,  I  think,  in  Clubs.  Wiggle  and  Waggle  are  both 
idle.  The}'  come  of  the  middle  classes.  One  of  them  very 
likely  makes  believe  to  be  a  barrister,  and  the  other  has  smart 
apartments  about  Piccadilly.  The}'  are  a  sort  of  second-chop 
dandies  ;  they  cannot  imitate  that  superb  listlessness  of  de- 
meanor, and  that  admirable  vacuous  folly  which  distinguishes 
the  noble  and  high-born  chiefs  of  the  race  ;  but  the}'  lead  lives 
almost  as  bad  (were  it  but  for  the  e:j^ample),  and  are  personally 
quite  as  useless.  I  am  not  going  to  arm  a  thunderbolt,  and 
launch  it  at  the  heads  of  these  little  Pall  Mall  butterflies. 
They  don't  commit  much  public  harm,  or  private  extravagance. 
They  don't  spend  a  thousand  pounds  for  diamond  ear-rings  for 
an  Opera-dancer,  as  Lord  Tarquin  can  :  neither  of  them  ever 
set  up  a  public-house  or  broke  the  bank  of  a  gambling-club, 
like  the  young  Earl  of  Martingale.  They  have  good  points, 
kind  feelings,  and  deal  honorably  in  money-transactions  — 
only  in  their  characters  of  men  of  second-rate  pleasure  about 
town,  they  and  their  like  are  so  utterly  mean,  self-contented, 
and  absurd,  that  they  must  not  be  omitted  in  a  work  treating 
on  Snobs. 

Wiggle  has  been  abroad,  where  he  gives  you  to  understand 
that  his  success  among  the  German  countesses  and  Italian 
princesses,  whom  he  met  at  the  tahles-d'hote,  w-as  perfectly  ter- 
rific. His  rooms  are  hung  round  with  pictures  of  actresses  and 
ballet-dancers.  He  passes  his  mornings  in  a  fine  dressing- 
gown,  burning  pastilles,  and  reading  Don  Juan  "  and  French 
novels  (by  the  way,  the  life  of  the  author  of  Don  Juan,"  as 
described  by  himself,  was  the  model  of  the  hfe  of  a  Snob). 
He  has  twopenny-halfpenny  French  prints  of  women  with  lan- 
guishing eyes,  dress  in  dominoes,  — guitars,  gondolas,  and  so 
forth,  —  and  tells  you  stories  about  them. 

"  It's  a  bad  print,"  says  he,  I  know,  but  I've  a  reason  for 
liking  it.  It  reminds  me  of  somebody  —  somebody  I  knew  in 
other  cUmes.  You  have  heard  of  the  Principessa  di  Monte 
Pulciano?    I  met  her  at  Rimini.     Dear,  dear  Francesca! 


410 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


That  fair-haired,  bright-ej'ed  thing  in  the  Bird  of  Paradise  and 
the  Turkish  Simar  with  the  love-bird  on  her  finger,  I'm  sure 
must  have  been  taken  from  —  from  somebody-  perhaps  whom 
3'ou  don't  know  —  but  she's  known  at  Munich,  Waggle  my 
boy,  —  ever3'body  knows  the  Countess  Ottiha  di  Eulenschreek- 
enstein.  Gad,  sir,  what  a  beautiful  creature  she  was  when  I 
danced  with  her  on  the  birthday  of  Prince  Attila  of  Bavaria, 
in  '44.  Prince  Carloman  was  our  vis-a-vis,  and  Prince  Pepin 
danced  the  same  contredanse.  She  has  a  Polyanthus  in  her 
bouquet.  Waggle,  I  have  it  now.''  His  countenance  assumes 
an  agonized  and  mysterious  expression,  and  he  buries  his  head 
in  the  sofa  cushions,  as  if  plunging  into  a  whirlpool  of  passion- 
ate recollections. 

Last  year  he  made  a  considerable  sensation  by  having  on 
his  table  a  morocco  miniature-case  locked  by  a  gold  key,  which 
he  always  wore  round  his  neck,  and  on  which  was  stamped  a 
serpent  —  emblem  of  eternity  —  with  the  letter  M  in  the  circle. 
Sometimes  he  laid  this  upon  his  little  morocco  writing-table,  as 
if  it  were  on  an  altar  —  generally  he  had  flowers  upon  it ;  in 
the  middle  of  a  conversation  he  would  start  up  and  kiss  it.  He 
would  call  out  from  his  bedroom  to  his  valet,  ''Hicks,  bring 
me  my  casket !  " 

''  I  don't  know  who  it  is,"  Waggle  would  sa3^  Who  does 
know  that  fellow's  intrigues  !  Desborough  Wiggle,  sir,  is  the 
slave  of  passion.  I  suppose  yon  have  heard  the  story  of  the 
Italian  princess  locked  up  in  the  Convent  of  Saint  Barbara,  at 
Rimini?  He  hasn't  told  you?  Then  I'm  not  at  liberty  to 
speak.  Or  the  countess,  about  whom  he  nearly  had  the  duel 
with  Prince  Witikind  of  Bavaria?  Perhaps  you  haven't  even 
heard  about  that  beautiful  girl  at  Pentonville,  daughter  of  a 
most  respectable  Dissenting  clergyman.  She  broke  her  heart 
when  she  found  he  was  engaged  (to  a  most  lovely  creature  of 
high  family,  who  afterwards  proved  false  to  him),  and  she's 
now  in  Han  well." 

Waggle's  belief  in  his  friend  amounts  to  frantic  adoration. 
"  What  a  genius  he  is,  if  he  would  but  appl}^  himself!"  he 
whispers  to  me.  "  He  could  be  anything,  sir,  but  for  his  pas- 
sions. His  poems  are  the  most  beautiful  things  you  ever  saw. 
Hti's  written  a  continuation  of  '  Don  Juan,'  from  his  own  ad-  • 
ventures.  Did  you  ever  read  his  lines  to  Mary?  They're  su- 
perior to  Byron,  sir  —  superior  to  Byron." 

I  was  glad  to  lu^ar  this  from  so  accomplished  a  critic  as 
Waggle;  for  the  fact  is,  I  had  composed  the  verses  myself  for 
honest  Wiggle  one  day,  whom  I  found  at  his  chambers  plunged 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


411 


in  thoaght  over  a  veiy  dirty  old-fashioned  album,  in  which  he 
had  not  as  yet  written  a  single  word. 

I  can't,"  says  he.  Sometimes  I  can  write  whole  cantos, 
and  to-day  not  a  line.  Oh,  Snob  !  such  an  opportunity  !  Such 
a  divine  creature !  She's  asked  me  to  write  verses  for  her 
album,  and  I  can't." 

' '  Is  she  rich  ?  "  said  I.  ''I  thought  you  would  never  marry 
an}'  but  an  heiress." 

"  Oh,  Snob  !  she's  the  most  accomplished,  highly-connected 
creature  !  —  and  I  can't  get  out  a  line." 

How  will  you  have  it?  "  says  I.  Hot,  with  sugar?  " 
Don't,  don't!  You  trample  on  the  most  sacred  feelings, 
Snob.  I  want  something  wild  and  tender, — like  Byron.  I 
want  to  tell  her  that  amongst  the  festive  halls,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know  —  I  onl}'  think  about  her,  you  know  —  that  I 
scorn  the  world,  and  am  wear}'  of  it,  you  know,  and  —  some- 
thing about  a  gazelle,  and  a  bulbul,  you  know." 

"  And  a  yataghan  to  finish  off  with,"  the  present  writer 
observed,  and  we  began  :  — 

''TO  MARY. 

"  I  seem,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd, 

The  lightest  of  all ; 
My  laughter  rings  cheery  and  loud, 

In  banquet  and  ball. 
My  lip  hath  its  smiles  and  its  sneers. 

For  all  men  to  see ; 
But  my  soul,  and  my  truth,  and  my  tears. 

Are  for  thee,  are  for  thee  !  " 

"Do  3^ou  call  that  neat,  Wiggle?"  saj'S  I.  "I  declare  it 
almost  makes  me  cry  my  self." 

"  Now  suppose,"  says  Wiggle,  "  we  say  that  all  the  world 
is  at  my  feet  —  make  her  jealous  you  know,  and  that  sort  of 
thing  —  and  that  —  that  I'm  going  to  tf^avel^  you  know  ?  That 
perhaps  ma^^  work  upon  her  feelings." 

So  We  (as  this  wretched  prig  said)  began  again :  — 

"  Aroimd  me  they  flatter  and  fawn  — 

The  young  and  the  old, 
The  fairest  are  ready  to  pawn 

Their  hearts  for  my  gold. 
They  sue  me  —  I  laugh  as  I  spurn 

The  slaves  at  my  knee, 
But  in  faith  and  in  fondness  I  turn 

Unto  thee,  unto  thee ! " 


412 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


"  Now  for  the  travelling,  Wiggle  my  boy  ! "  And  I  began, 
in  a  voice  choked  with  emotion  — 

"  Away  !  for  my  heart  knows  no  rest 

Since  you  taught  it  to  feel ; 
The  secret  must  die  in  my  breast 

I  burn  to  reveal ; 
The  passion  I  may  not  ..." 

"  I  sa3^  Snob  !  "  Wiggle  here  interrupted  the  excited  bard 
(just  as  I  was  about  to  break  out  into  four  lines  so  pathetic 
that  they  would  drive  you  into  hysterics).  I  say —  ahem  — 
couldn't  you  say  that  I  was  —  a  —  militar}^  man,  and  that  there 
wars  some  danger  of  my  life  ?  " 

"You  a  mihtary  man?  —  danger  of  3^our  life?  What  the 
deuce  do  you  mean  ?  " 

u  Why,"  said  Wiggle,  blushing  a  good  deal,  "  I  told  her  I 
was  going  out  —  on  —  the  —  Ecuador —  expedition." 

"  You  abominable  ^  oung  impostor,"  I  exclaimed.  "  Finish 
the  poem  for  yourself!"  And  so  he  did,  and  entirely  out  of 
all  metre,  and  bragged  about  the  work  at  the  Club  as  his  own 
performance. 

Poor  Waggle  fully  believed  in  his  friend's  genius,  until  one 
day  last  week  he  came  with  a  grin  on  his  countenance  to  the 
Club,  and  said,  '^Oh,  Snob,  I've  made  such  a  discovery! 
Going  down  to  the  skating  to-day,  whom  should  I  see  but 
Wiggle  walking  with  that  splendid  woman  —  that  lad}^  of  illus- 
trious famil}^  and  immense  fortune,  Mary,  you  know,  whom  he 
wrote  the  beautiful  verses  about.  She's  five-and-forty.  She's 
red  hair.  She's  a  nose  like  a  pump-handle.  Her  father  made 
his  fortune  b}^  keeping  a  ham-and-beef  shop,  and  Wiggle's 
going  to  marr}^  her  next  week." 

"So  much  the  better.  Waggle,  my  3'oung  friend,"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  Better  for  the  sake  of  womankind  that  this  danger- 
ous dog  should  leave  off  ladj  -killing  —  this  Bluebeard  give  up 
practice.  Or,  better  rather  for  his  own  sake.  For  as  there  is 
not  a  word  of  truth  in  an}^  of  those  prodigious  love  stories 
which  you  used  to  swallow,  nobody  has  been  hurt  except  W  ig- 
gle  himself,  whose  affections  will  now  centre  in  the  ham-and- 
beef  shop.  There  are  people,  Mr.  Waggle,  who  do  these  things 
in  earnest,  and  hold  a  good  rank  in  the  world  too.  But  these 
are  not  subjects  for  ridicule,  and  though  certainly  Snobs,  are 
scoundrels  likewise.    Their  cases  go  up  to  a  higher  Court." 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


413 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

Bacchus  is  the  divinity  to  whom  Waggle  devotes  his  especial 
worship.  "  Give  me  wine,  my  boy,"  says  he  to  his  friend 
Wiggle,  who  is  prating  about  lovely  woman :  and  holds  up  his 
glass  full  of  the  rosy  fluid,  and  winks  at  it  portentously,  and 
sips  it,  and  smacks  his  lips  after  it,  and  meditates  on  it,  as  if 
he  were  the  greatest  of  connoisseurs. 

I  have  remarked  this  excessive  wine-amateurship  especially 
in  youth.  Snoblings  from  college,  Fledglings  from  the  army. 
Goslings  from  the  public  schools,  who  ornament  our  Clubs,  are 
frequently  to  be  heard  in  great  force  upon  wine  questions. 
''This  bottle's  corked,"  says  Snobling ;  and  Mr.  Sly,  the 
butler,  taking  it  awa}^  returns  presently  with  the  same  wine 
in  another  jug,  which  the  young  amateur  pronounces  excellent. 
"Hang  champagne!"  says  Fledgling,  "it's  only  fit  for  gals 
and  children.  Give  me  pale  sherrj'  at  dinner,  and  my  twent}'- 
tliree  claret  afterwards."  "  What's  port  now?"  says  Gosling ; 
"disgusting  thick  sweet  stuff — where's  the  old  dry  wine  one 
used  to  get?"  Until  the  last  twelvemonth,  Fledgling  drank 
small-beer  at  Doctor  Swishtail's  ;  and  Gosling  used  to  get  his 
dry  old  port  at  a  gin-shop  in  Westminster — till  he  quitted  that 
seminary,  in  1844. 

Anybody  who  has  looked  at  the  caricatures  of  thirty  years 
ago,  must  remember  how  frequently  bottle-noses,  pimpled 
faces,  and  other  Bardolphian  features  are  introduced  b}'  the 
designer.  Thej'  are  much  more  rare  now  (in  nature,  and  in 
pictures,  therefore,)  than  in  those  good  old  times;  but  there 
are  still  to  be  found  amongst  the  youth  of  our  Clubs  lads  who 
glor}^  in  drinking-bouts,  and  whose  faces,  quite  sickly  and 
3^ellow,  for  the  most  part  are  decorated  with  those  marks  which 
Rowland's  Kalydor  is  said  to  efface.  "  I  was  so  cut  last  night 
—  old  boy!"  Hopkins  saj's  to  Tomkins  (with  amiable  confi- 
dence). "  I  tell  3^ou  what  we  did.  We  breakfasted  with  Jack 
Herring  at  twelve,  and  kept  up  with  brandy  and  soda-water 
and  weeds  till  four  ;  then  we  toddled  into  the  Park  for  an  hour ; 
then  we  dined  and  drank  mulled  port  till  halt-price  ;  then  we 
looked  in  for  an  hour  at  the  Haymarket ;  then  we  came  back 


414 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


to  the  Club,  and  had  grills  and  whiske}'  punch  till  all  was  blue. 
—  Hullo,  waiter !  Get  me  a  glass  of  cherry-brandy."  Club 
waiters,  the  civilest,  the  kindest,  the  patientest  of  men,  die 
under  the  infliction  of  these  cruel  3'oung  topers.  But  if  the 
reader  wishes  to  see  a  perfect  picture  on  the  stage  of  this  class 
of  young  fellows,  I  would  recommend  him  to  witness  the  in- 
genious comed}'  of  London  Assurance  —  the  amiable  heroes  of 
which  are  represented,  not  only  as  drunkards  and  five-o'clock- 
in-the-morning  men,  but  as  showing  a  hundred  other  delightful 
traits  of  swindling,  lying,  and  general  debauchery,  quite  edify- 
ing to  witness. 

How  diflferent  is  the  conduct  of  these  outrageous  youths  to 
the  decent  behavior  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Pap  worthy  ;  who  says 
to  Poppins,  the  butler  at  the  club  :  — 

Papworthy.  —  ''Poppins,  I'm  thinking  of  dining  early;  is 
there  anj-  cold  game  in  the  house  ?  " 

Poppins.  —  There's  a  game  pie,  sir;  there's  cold  grouse, 
sir ;  tliere's  cold  pheasant,  sir ;  there's  cold  peacock,  sir ;  cold 
swan,  sir;  cold  ostrich,  sir,"  &c.  &c.  (as  the  case  may  be). 

Papworthy.  —  "  Hem  !  What's  3  our  best  claret  now,  Pop- 
pins?—  in  pints  I  mean." 

Poppins.  —  "There's  Cooper  and  Magnum's  Lafite,  sir; 
there's  Lath  and  Sawdust's  St.  Jullien,  sir :  Bung's  Leoville 
is  considered  remarkably  fine  ;  and  I  think  3'ou'd  like  Jugger's 
Chateau-Margaux." 

Papworthy.  —  ''  Hum  !  —  hah  !  —  well  —  give  me  a  crust  of 
bread  and  a  glass  of  beer.    I'll  only  lunch,  Poppins." 

Captain  Shindy  is  another  sort  of  Club  bore.  He  has  been 
known  to  throw  all  the  Club  in  an  uproar  about  the  quality  of 
his  mutton-chop. 

''  Look  at  it,  sir?  Is  it  cooked,  sir?  Smell  it,  sir!  Is  it 
meat  fit  for  a  gentleman  ?  "  he  roars  out  to  the  steward,  who 
stands  trembling  before  him,  and  who  in  vain  tells  him  that  the 
Bishop  of  Bullocksmithy  has  just  had  three  from  the  same  loin. 
All  the  waiters  in  the  Club  are  huddled  round  the  captain's 
mutton-chop.  He  roars  out  the  most  horrible  curses  at  John 
for  not  bringing  the  i)ickles  ;  he  utters  the  most  dreadful  oaths 
because  Thomas  has  not  arrived  with  the  Ilarve}^  sauce  ;  Peter 
comes  tumbhng  with  the  water-jug  over  Jeames,  who  is  bring- 
ing the  glittering  canisters  with  bread."  Whenever  Shindy 
enters  the  room  (such  is  the  force  of  character),  every  table  is 
deserted,  everj^  gentleman  must  dine  as  he  best  may,  and  all 
those  big  footmen  are  in  terror. 

lie  makes  his  account  of  it.   He  scolds,  and  is  better  waited 


thp:  book  of  snobs. 


415 


upon  in  consequence.  At  the  Club  he  has  ten  servants  scud- 
ding about  to  do  his  bidding. 

Poor  Mrs.  Shind}'  and  the  children  are,  meanwhile  in  dingy 
lodgings  somewhere,  waited  upon  by  a  charity-girl  in  pattens. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

Every  well-bred  English  female  will  sympathize  with  the 
subject  of  the  harrowing  tale,  the  history  of  Sackville  Maine,  I 
am  now  about  to  recount.  The  pleasures  of  Clubs  have  been 
spoken  of:  let  us  now  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  dangers  of 
those  institutions,  and  for  this  purpose  I  must  introduce  3^ou  to 
my  3'oung  acquaintance,  Sackville  Maine. 

It  was  at  a  ball  at  the  house  of  my  respected  friend,  Mrs. 
Perkins,  that  I  was  introduced  to  this  gentleman  and  his  charm- 
ing lady.  Seeing  a  young  creature  before  me  in  a  white  dress, 
with  white  satin  shoes  ;  with  a  pink  ribbon,  about  a  yard  in 
breadth,  flaming  out  as  she  twirled  in  a  polka  in  the  arms  of 
Monsieur  de  Springbock,  the  German  diplomatist ;  with  a  green 
wreath  on  her  head,  and  the  blackest  hair  this  individual  ever 
set  e3^es  on  —  seeing,  I  say,  before  me  a  charming  young 
woman  whisking  beautifully  in  a  beautiful  dance,  and  present- 
ing, as  she  wound  round  and  round  the  room,  now  a  full  face, 
then  a  three-quarter  face,  then  a  profile — a  face,  in  fine,  which 
in  every  way  you  saw  it,  looked  pretty,  and  rosy,  and  happy,  I 
felt  (as  I  trust)  a  not  unbecoming  curiosity  regarding  the  owner 
of  this  pleasant  countenance,  and  asked  Wagley  (who  was 
standing  by,  in  conversation  with  an  acquaintance)  who  was 
the  lady  in  question? 

"  Which?"  says  Wagle3\ 

"  That  one  with  the  coal-black  eyes,"  I  replied. 

"Hush!"  says  he;  and  the  gentleman  with  whom  he  was 
talking  moved  off,  with  rather  a  discomfited  air. 

When  he  was  gone  Wagley  burst  out  laughing.  "  Coal-hlack 
eyes!"  said  he;  ''you've  just  hit  it.  That's  Mrs.  Sackville 
Maine,  and  that  was  her  husband  who  just  went  away.  He's  a 
coal-merchant,  Snob,  my  boy,  and  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Per- 
kins's Wallsends  are  supplied  from  his  wharf.  He  is  in  a  fiam- 
ing  furnace  when  he  hears  coals  mentioned.    He  and  his  wife 


416 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


and  his  mother  are  ver}^  proud  of  Mrs.  Sackville's  family  ;  slu? 
was  a  Miss  Chuff,  daughter  of  Captain  Chuff,  R.N.  That  is 
the  widow  ;  that  stout  woman  in  crimson  tabbinet,  battUng  about 
the  odd  trick  with  old  Mr.  Dumps,  at  the  card-table." 

And  so,  in  fact,  it  was.  Sackville  Maine  (whose  name  is  a 
hundred  times  more  elegant,  sureh',  than  that  of  Chuff)  was 
blest  with  a  prett}'  wife,  and  a  genteel  mother-in-law,  both  of 
whom  some  people  may  envy  him. 

Soon  after  his  marriage  the  old  lad}'  was  good  enough  to 
come  and  pa}'  him  a  visit  —  just  for  a  fortnight  —  at  his  prettj^ 
little  cottage,  Kennington  Oval ;  and,  such  is  her  affection  for 
the  place,  has  never  quitted  it  these  four  A^ears.  She  has  also 
brought  her  son,  Nelson  Collingwood  Chuff,  to  live  with  her  ; 
but  he  is  not  so  much  at  home  as  his  mamma,  going  as  a  da}^- 
boy  to  Merchant  Taylors'  School,  where  he  is  getting  a  sound 
classical  education. 

If  these  beings,  so  closely  allied  to  his  wife,  and  so  justly  dear 
to  her,  ma}'  be  considered  as  drawbacks  to  Maine's  hii})[;iiioss. 
what  man  is  there  that  has  not  some  things  in  life  to  complain 
of?  And  when  I  first  knew  Mr.  Maine,  no  man  seemed  more 
comfortable  than  he.  His  cottage  was  a  picture  of  elegance 
and  comfort ;  his  table  and  cellar  were  excellently  and  neatly 
supplied.  There  was  every  enjoyment,  but  no  ostentation.  The 
omnibus  took  him  to  business  of  a  morning  ;  the  boat  brouglit 
him  back  to  the  happiest  of  homes,  where  he  would  while  away 
the  long  evenings  by  reading  out  the  fashionable  novels  to 
the  ladies  as  they  worked  ;  or  accompany  his  wife  on  the  flute 
(which  he  played  elegantly)  ;  or  in  any  one  of  the  hundred 
pleasing  and  innocent  amusements  of  the  domestic  circle.  Mrs. 
Chuff  covered  the  drawing-rooms  with  prodigious  tapestries, 
the  work  of  her  hands.  Mrs.  Sackville  had  a  particular  genius 
for  making  covers  of  tape  or  network  for  these  tapestried 
cushions.  She  could  make  home-made  wines.  She  could  make 
preserves  and  pickles.  She  had  an  album,  into  which,  during 
the  time  of  liis  courtship,  Sackville  Maine  had  written  choice 
scra[)s  of  B}'ron's  and  Moore's  poetry,  analogous  to  his  own 
situation,  and  in  a  fine  mercantile  hand.  She  had  a  large  man- 
uscript receipt-book  —  every  quality,  in  a  word,  which  indicated 
a  virtuous  and  well-bred  Eni2jlish  female  mind. 

''And  as  for  Nelson  Collingwood,"  Sackville  would  say, 
laui^liing,  ''we  couldn't  do  without  him  in  the  house.  If  he 
didn't  spoil  the  tai)estry  we  should  be  over-cushioned  in  a  few 
months  ;  and  whom  could  we  got  l)ut  him  to  drink  Laura's 
home-made  win^^?"    The  truth  Is,  the  gents  who  came  from 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


417 


the  City  to  dine  at  the  "  Oval"  could  not  be  induced  to  drink 
it  —  in  which  fastidiousness,  I  myself,  when  I  grew  to  be  inti- 
mate with  the  family,  confess  that  I  shared. 

"  And  yet,  sir,  that  green  ginger  has  been  drunk  by  some  of 
England's  proudest  heroes,"  Mrs.  Chuff  would  exclaim.  Ad- 
miral Lord  Exmouth  tasted  and  praised  it,  sir,  on  board  Cap- 
tain Chuff's  ship,  the  '  Nebuchadnezzar,'  74,  at  Algiers  ;  and 
he  had  three  dozen  with  him  in  the  '  Pitchfork'  frigate,  a  part 
of  which  was  served  out  to  the  men  before  he  went  into  his  im- 
mortal action  with  the  '  Furibonde,'  Captain  Choufleur,  in  the 
Gulf  of  Panama." 

All  this,  though  the  old  dowager  told  us  the  story  ever}'  day 
when  the  wine  was  produced,  never  served  to  get  rid  of  any 
quantit}^  of  it — and  the  green  ginger,  though  it  had  fired 
British  tars  for  combat  and  victory,  was  not  to  the  taste  of  us 
peaceful  and  degenerate  gents  of  modern  times. 

I  see  Sackville  now,  as  on  the  occasion  when,  presented  by 
Wagley,  I  paid  my  first  visit  to  him.  It  was  in  July  —  a 
Sunda}^  afternoon  —  Sackville  Maine  was  coming  from  church, 
with  liis  wife  on  one  arm,  and  his  mother-in-law  (in  red  tabbinet, 
as  usual,)  on  the  other.  A  half-grown,  or  hobbadehoj'ish  foot- 
man, so  to  speak,  walked  after  them,  carr3ing  their  shining 
golden  prayer-books  —  the  ladies  had  splendid  parasols  with 
tags  and  fringes.  Mrs.  Chuff's  great  gold  watch,  fastened  to 
her  stomach,  gleamed  there  like  a  ball  of  fire.  Nelson  Colling- 
wood  was  in  the  distance,  sh3ing  stones  at  an  old  horse  on 
Kennington  Common.  'Twas  on  that  verdant  spot  we  met  — 
nor  can  I  ever  forget  the  majestic  courtesy  of  Mrs.  Chuff,  as 
she  remembered  having  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  me  at  Mrs. 
Perkins's  —  nor  the  glance  of  scorn  which  she  threw  at  an  un- 
fortunate gentleman  who  was  preaching  an  exceedingly  desul- 
tory discourse  to  a  sceptical  audience  of  omnibus-cads  and 
nurse-maids,  on  a  tub,  as  we  passed  by.  ''I  cannot  help  it, 
sir,"  says  she  ;  I  am  the  widow  of  an  officer  of  Britain's  Navy  : 
I  was  taught  to  honor  my  Church  and  my  King :  and  I  cannot 
bear  a  Radical,  or  a  Dissenter." 

With  these  fine  principles  I  found  Sackville  Maine  impressed. 
"  Wagley,"  said  he,  to  my  introducer,  ''if  no  better  engage- 
ment, why  shouldn't  self  and  friend  dine  at  the  '  Oval?'  Mr. 
Snob,  sir,  the  mutton's  coming  off  the  spit  at  this  very  minute. 
Laura  and  Mrs.  Chuff"  (he  said  Laarar  and  Mrs.  ChuflT;  but  I 
hate  people  who  make  remarks  on  these  peculiarities  of  pronun- 
ciation)    wiU  be  most  happy  to  see  you  ;  and  I  can  promise 

27 


418 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


3^ou  a  hearty  welcome  and  as  good  a  glass  of  port-wine  as  any 
in  England." 

This  is  better  than  dining  at  the  '  Sarcophagus/  "  thinks  I 
to  m^'self,  at  which  Club  Wagle}^  and  I  had  intended  to  take  our 
meal ;  and  so  we  accepted  the  kir  'lly  invitation,  whence  arose 
afterwards  a  considerable  intimacy. 

Everything  about  this  family  and  house  was  so  good-natured, 
comfortable  and  well-conditioned,  that  a  cynic  would  have 
ceased  to  growl  there.  Mrs.  Laura  was  all  graciousness  and 
smiles,  and  looked  to  as  great  advantage  in  her  prett}^  morning- 
gown  as  in  her  dress-robe  at  Mrs.  Perkins's.  Mrs.  Chuff  fired 
off  her  stories  about  the  "Nebuchadnezzar,"  74,  the  action 
between  the  "Pitchfork"  and  the  "  Furibonde  "  —  the  heroic 
resistance  of  Captain  Choufleur,  and  the  quantity  of  snuff  he 
took,  &c.,  &c.  ;  which,  as  they  were  heard  for  the  first  time, 
were  pleasanter  than  I  have  subsequent) 3^  found  them.  Sack- 
ville  Maine  was  the  best  of  hosts.  He  agreed  in  everything 
everybody  said,  altering  his  opinions  without  the  slightest  res- 
ervation upon  the  slightest  possible  contradiction.  He  was  not 
one  of  those  beings  who  would  emulate  a  Schonbein  or  Friar 
Bacon,  or  act  the  part  of  an  incendiary  towards  the  Thames, 
his  neighbor  —  but  a  good,  kind,  simple,  honest,  easy  fellow 

—  in  love  with  his  wife  —  well  disposed  to  all  the  world  —  con- 
tent with  himself,  content  even  with  his  mother-in-law.  Nelson 
Collingwood,  I  remember,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  when 
whiskej'-and -water  was  for  some  reason  produced,  grew  a  little 
tipsy.  This  did  not  in  the  least  iiiove  Sackville's  equanimit}^ 
"  Take  him  up  stairs,  Joseph,"  said  he  to  the  hobbadehoy,  "  and 

—  Joseph  —  don't  tell  his  mamma." 

What  could  make  a  man  so  happil}^  disposed,  unhappy? 
What  could  cause  discomfort,  bickering,  and  estrangement  in 
a  family  so  friendl}'  and  united  ?    Ladies,  it  was  not  m}'  fault 

—  it  was  Mrs.  Chuffs  doing  —  but  the  rest  of  the  tale  you  shall 
have  on  a  future  day. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


419 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

The  misfortune  which  befell  the  simple  and  good  natured 
young  Saekville,  arose  entirely  from  that  abominable  ''Sar- 
cophagus Club ; "  and  that  he  ever  entered  it  was  partly  the 
fault  of  the  present  writer. 

For  seeing  Mrs.  Chiiti,  his  mother-in-law,  had  a  taste  for 
the  genteel — (indeed,  her  talk  was  all  about  Lord  CoUing- 
wood.  Lord  Gambler,  Sir  Jahaleel  Brenton,  and  the  Gosport 
and  Plymouth  balls)  —  Wagley  and  1,  according  to  our  wont, 
trumped  her  conversation,  and  talked  about  Lords,  Dukes, 
Marquises,  and  Baronets,  as  if  those  dignitaries  were  our 
familiar  friends. 

''Lord  Sextonbury,"  says  I,  "  seems  to  have  recovered  her 
ladj'ship's  death.  He  and  the  Duke  were  ver}'  jolU'  over  their 
wine  at  the  '  Sarcophagus  '  last  night ;  weren't  they,  Wagley?  " 

"  Good  fellow,  the  Duke,"  Wagiey  repUed.  "  Pra}^,  ma'am 
(to  Mrs.  Chuff),  "  you  who  know  the  world  and  etiquette,  will 
you  tell  me  what  a  man  ought  to  do  in  my  case?  Last  June, 
his  Grace,  his  son  Lord  Castle  Rampant,  Tom  Smith,  and  my- 
self were  dining  at  the  Club,  when  I  offered  the  odds  against 
Daddylonglegs  for  the  Derb}^ —  fort}^  to  one,  in  sovereigns  only. 
His  Grace  took  the  bet,  and  of  course  I  won.  He  has  never 
paid  me.  Now,  can  I  ask  such  a  great  man  for  a  sovereign  ? 
—  One  more  lump  of  sugar,  if  you  please,  my  dear  madam." 

It  was  lucky  Wagley  gave  her  this  opportunity  to  elude  the 
question,  for  it  prostrated  the  whole  worth}'  faniily  among 
whom  we  were.  They  telegraphed  each  other  with  woiidering 
eyes.  Mrs.  Chuffs  stories  about  the  naval  nobility  grew  quite 
faint:  and  kind  little  Mrs.  Saekville  became  uneasy,  and  went 
up  stairs  to  look  at  the  children  —  not  at  that  young  monster, 
Nelson  Colling  wood,  who  was  sleeping  off  the  whiskey-and- 
water  —  but  at  a  couple  of  little  ones  who  had  made  their 
appearance  at  dessert,  and  of  whom  she  and  Saekville  were  the 
happy  parents. 

The  end  of  this  and  subsequent  meetings  with  Mr.  Maine 
was,  that  we  proposed  and  got  him  elected  as  a  member  of 
the  "  Sarcophagus  Club." 

It  was  not  done  without  a  deal  of  opposition  —  the  secret 


420 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


having  been  whispered  that  the  candidate  was  a  coal-merchant. 
You  may  be  sure  some  of  the  proud  people  and  most  of  the 
parvenus  of  the  Club  were  read3^  blackball  him.  We  com- 
bated this  opposition  successfull}^,  however.  We  pointed  out 
to  the  parvenus  that  the  Lambtons  and  the  Stuarts  sold  coals : 
we  mollified  the  proud  by  accounts  of  his  good  birth,  good-na- 
ture, and  good  behavior ;  and  Wagle}'  went  about  on  the  dtiy 
of  election,  describing  with  great  eloquence,  the  action  between 
the  Pitchfork  "  and  the  "  Furibonde,"  and  the  valor  of  Cap- 
tain Maine,  our  friend's  father.  There  was  a  slight  mistake 
in  the  narrative  ;  but  we  carried  our  man,  with  only  a  trifling 
sprinkling  of  black  beans  in  the  boxes :  B^  les's,  of  course, 
who  blackballs  everybody :  and  Bung's,  who  looks  down  upon 
a  coal-merchant,  having  himself  lately  retired  from  the  wine- 
trade. 

Some  fortnight  afterwards  I  saw  Sackville  Maine  under  the 
following  circumstances :  — 

He  was  showing  the  Club  to  his  family.  He  had  brought 
them  thither  in  the  light-blue  fly,  waiting  at  the  Club  door ; 
with  Mrs.  Chuffs  hobbadehoy  footboy  on  the  box,  by  the  side 
of  the  fl^^man,  in  a  sham  livery.  Nelson  Collingwood  ;  pretty 
Mrs.  Sackville ;  Mrs.  Captain  Chuff"  (Mrs.  Commodore  Chuff 
we  call  her),  were  all  there  ;  the  latter,  of  course,  in  the  ver- 
milion tabbinet,  which,  splendid  as  it  is,  is  nothing  in  compari- 
son to  the  splendor  of  the  ''Sarcophagus."  The  dehghted 
Sackville  Maine  was  pointing  out  the  beauties  of  the  place  to 
them.    It  seemed  as  beautiful  as  Paradise  to  that  little  party. 

The  "Sarcophagus"  displays  every  known  variet}^  of  archi- 
tecture and  decoration.  The  great  library  is  Elizabethan  ;  the 
small  library  is  pointed  Gothic  ;  the  dining-room  is  severe  Doric : 
the  strangers'  room  has  an  Egyptian  look  ;  the  drawing-rooms 
are  Louis  Quatorze  (so  called  because  the  hideous  ornaments 
displayed  were  used  in  the  time  of  Louis  Quinze)  ;  the  cortile, 
or  hall,  is  Morisco-Italian.  It  is  all  over  marble,  maple  wood, 
looking-glasses,  arabesques,  ormolu,  and  scagliola.  Scrolls, 
ciphers,  dragons,  Cupids,  polyanthuses  and  other  flowers  writhe 
up  the  walls  in  every  kind  of  cornucopiosity.  Fancy  every  gen- 
tleman in  Jullien's  band  playing  with  all  his  might,  and  each 
performing  a  different  tunc  ;  the  ornaments  at  our  Club,  the 
''Sarcophagus,"  so  bewilder  and  affect  me.  Dazzled  with 
emotions  which  I  cannot  describe,  and  which  she  dared  not 
reveal,  Mrs.  Chuff,  followed  l)y  her  children  and  son-in-law, 
walked  wondering  amongst  these  blundering  si)lendors. 

In  the  great  library  (225  feet  long  by  150)  the  only  man  Mrs. 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


42i 


Chuff  saw,  was  Tiggs.  He  was  lying  on  a  crimson-velvet  sofa, 
reading  a  French  novel  of  Paul  de  Kock.  It  was  a  very  little 
book.  He  is  a  very  little  man.  In  that  enormous  hall  he 
looked  like  a  mere  speck.  As  the  ladies  passed  breathless  and 
trembhng  in  the  vastness  of  the  magnificent  solitude,  he  threw 
a  knowing,  killing  glance  at  the  fair  strangers,  as  much  as  to 
say,     Ain't  I  a  fine  fellow?"    They  thought  so,  I  am  sure. 

Who  is  thatV  hisses  out  Mrs.  Chuflf,  when  we  were  about 
fifty  yards  ofi*  him  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Tiggs  !  "  says  I,  in  a  similar  whisper. 
"Pretty  comfortable  this,  isn't  it,  my  dear?"  says  Maine  in 
a  free-and-easy  way  to  Mrs.  Sackville ;  ''all  the  magazines, 
3^ou  see  —  writing  materials  —  new  works  —  choice  library, 
containing  every  work  of  importance  —  what  have  we  here  ?  — 
'  Dugdale's  Monasticon,'  a  most  valuable  and,  I  believe,  enter- 
taining book." 

And  proposing  to  take  down  one  of  the  books  for  Mrs. 
Maine's  inspection,  he  selected  Volume  VU.,  to  which  he  was 
attracted  by  the  singular  fact  that  a  brass  door-handle  grew  out 
of  the  back.  Instead  of  pulling  out  a  book,  however,  he  pulled 
open  a  cupboard,  only  inhabited  b}^  a  laz}^  housemaid's  broom 
and  duster,  at  which  he  looked  exceedingh'  discomfited ;  while 
Nelson  Collingwood,  losing  all  respect,  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter. 

That's  the  rummest  book  I  ever  saw,"  says  Nelson.  "  I 
wish  we'd  no  others  at  Merchant  Taylors'." 

Hush,  Nelson  !"  cries  Mrs.  Chuff,  and  we  went  into  the 
other  magnificent  apartments. 

How  they  did  admire  the  drawing-room  hangings,  (pink  and 
silver  brocade,  most  excellent  wear  for  London,)  and  calculated 
the  price  per  yard ;  and  revelled  on  the  luxurious  sofas  ;  and 
gazed  on  the  immeasurable  looking-glasses. 

"  Pretty  well  to  shave  by,  eh?"  says  Maine  to  his  mother- 
in-law.  (He  was  getting  more  abominably  conceited  every 
minute.)  ''  Get  away,  Sackville,"  says  she,  quite  delighted, 
and  threw  a  glance  over  her  shoulder,  and  spread  out  the 
wings  of  the  red  tabbinet,  and  took  a  good  look  at  herself ;  so 
did  Mrs.  Sackville  —  just  one,  and  I  thought  the  glass  reflected 
a  very  smiling,  pretty  creature. 

But  what's  a  woman  at  a  looking-glass?  Bless  the  little 
dears,  it's  their  place.  They  fly  to  it  naturally.  It  pleases 
them,  and  they  adorn  it.  What  i  like  to  see,  and  watch  with 
increasing  joy  and  adoration,  is  the  Club  men  at  the  great 
looking-glasses.    Old  Gills  pushing  up  his  collars  and  grinning 


422 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


at  his  own  mottled  face.  Hulker  looking  solemnly  at  his  great 
person,  and  tightening  his  coat  to  give  himself  a  waist.  Fred 
Minchin  simpering  b}'  as  he  is  going  out  to  dine,  and  casting 
upon  the  reflection  of  his  white  neck-cloth  a  pleased  moony 
smile.  What  a  deal  of  vanit}'  that  Club  mirror  has  reflected, 
to  be  sure  ! 

Well,  the  ladies  went  through  the  whole  establishment  with 
perfect  pleasure.  They  beheld  the  coflee-rooms,  and  the  little 
tables  laid  for  dinner,  and  the  gentlemen  who  were  taking  their 
lunch,  and  old  Jawkins  thundering  away  as  usual ;  the}'  saw  the 
reading-rooms,  and  the  rush  for  the  evening  papers  ;  they  saw 
the  kitchens  —  those  wonders  of  art — where  the  Chef  was  pre- 
siding over  twenty  pretty  kitchen-maids,  and  ten  thousand 
shining  saucepans :  and  they  got  into  the  light-blue  fly  per- 
fectly bewildered  with  pleasure. 

Sackville  did  not  enter  it,  though  little  Laura  took  the  back 
seat  on  purpose,  and  left  him  the  front  place  alongside  of  Mrs. 
Chuff's  red  tabbinet. 

We  have  your  favorite  dinner,"  sa3's  she,  in  a  timid  voice  ; 
won't  you  come,  Sackville?" 

"  I  shall  take  a  chop  here  to-da}',  my  dear,"  Sackville 
replied.  '^Ilome,  James."  And  he  went  up  the  steps  of  the 
"  Sarcophagus,"  and  the  pretty  face  looked  very  sad  out  of  the 
carriage,  as  the  blue  fly  drove  awa}^ 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

CLUB  SNOBS. 

W'nY  —  why  did  I  and  Wagley  ever  do  so  cruel  an  action 
as  to  introduce  young  Sackville  Maine  into  that  odious  "  Sar- 
cophagus !  "  Let  our  imprudence  and  his  example  be  a  warning 
to  other  gents  ;  let  his  fate  and  that  of  his  poor  wife  be  remem- 
bered by  every  British  female.  The  consequences  of  his  enter- 
ing the  Chib  were  as  follow  :  — 

One  of  the  first  vices  the  unhappy  wretch  acquired  in  this 
abode  of  frivolity  was  that  of  smoking.  Some  of  the  dandies  of 
the  Club,  such  as  the  Manjuis  of  Macabaw,  Lord  Doodeen,  and 
fellows  of  that  high  order,  are  in  the  liabit  of  indulging  in  this 
propensity  up  stairs  in  the  bilhard-rooms  of  the  Sarcopha- 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


423 


gus  "  —  and,  partly  to  make  their  acquaintance,  partly  from  a 
natural  aptitude  for  crime,  Sackville  Maine  followed  them,  and 
became  an  adept  in  the  odious  custom.  Where  it  is  introduced 
into  a  family  I  need  not  say  how  sad  the  consequences  are,  both 
to  the  furniture  and  the  morals.  Sackville  smoked  in  his  din- 
ing-room at  home,  and  caused  an  agon}^  to  his  wife  and  mother- 
in-law  which  I  do  not  venture  to  describe. 

He  then  became  a  professed  billiard-player^  wasting  hours 
upon  hours  at  that  amusement ;  betting  freely,  playing  tolera- 
bly, losing  awfully  to  Captain  Spot  and  Col.  Cannon.  He 
plaj'ed  matches  of  a  hundred  games  with  these  gentlemen,  and 
would  not  only  continue  until  four  or  live  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing at  this  work,  but  would  be  found  at  the  Club  of  a  forenoon, 
indulging  himself  to  the  detriment  of  his  business,  the  ruin  of 
his  health,  and  the  neglect  of  his  wife. 

From  billiards  to  whist  is  but  a  step  —  and  when  a  man  gets 
to  whist  and  five  pounds  on  the  rubber,  my  opinion  is,  that  it  is 
all  up  with  him.  How  was  the  coal  business  to  go  on,  and  the 
connection  of  the  firm  to  be  kept  up,  and  the  senior  partner 
always  at  the  card-table  ? 

Consorting  now  with  genteel  persons  and  Pall  Mall  bucks, 
Sackville  became  ashamed  of  his  snug  little  residence  in  Ken- 
nington  Oval,  and  transported  his  family  to  Piinlico,  where, 
though  Mrs.  Chuff,  his  mother-in-law,  was  at  first  happ}^,  as 
the  quarter  was  elegant  and  near  her  Sovereign,  poor  little 
Laura  and  the  children  found  a  woful  difference.  Where  were 
her  friends  who  came  in  with  their  work  of  a  morning?  —  At 
Kennington  and  in  the  vicinitj'  of  Clapham.  Where  were  her 
.children's  little  playmates  ?  —  On  Kennington  Common.  The 
great  thundering  carriages  that  roared  up  and  down  the  drab- 
colored  streets  of  the  new  quarter,  contained  no  friends  for  the 
sociable  little  Laura.  The  children  that  paced  the  squares, 
attended  by  a  bonne  or  a  prim  governess,  were  not  like  those 
happy  ones  that  flew  kites,  or  played  hop-scotch  on  the  well- 
beloved  old  Common.  And  ah !  what  a  difference  at  Church 
too!  —  between  St.  Benedict's  of  Pimlico,  with  open  seats, 
service  in  sing-song  —  tapers  —  albs  —  surplices  —  garlands, 
and  processions,  and  the  honest  old  ways  of  Kennington  !  The 
footmen,  too,  attending  St.  Benedict's  were  so  splendid  and 
enormous,  that  James,  Mrs.  Chuff's  boy,  trembled  amongst 
them,  and  said  he  would  give  warning  rather  than  cany  the 
books  to  that  church  any  more. 

The  furnishing  of  the  house  was  not  done  without  ex- 
pense. 


424 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


And,  ye  gods !  what  a  difference  there  was  between  Sack- 
ville's  dreary  French  banquets  in  PimUco,  and  the  jolly  dinners 
at  the  Oval!  No  more  legs-of-mutton,  no  more  of ''the  best 
port- wine  in  England  ;  "  but  entrees  on  plate,  and  dismal  two- 
penn}^  champagne,  and  waiters  in  gloves,  and  the  Club  bucks 
for  company  —  among  whom  Mrs.  Chuff  was  uneasy  and  Mrs. 
Sackville  quite  silent. 

Not  that  he  dined  at  home  often.  The  wretch  had  become 
a  perfect  epicure,  and  dined  commonly  at  the  Club  with  the 
gormandizing  clique  there  ;  with  old  Dr.  Maw,  Colonel  Cram- 
ley  (who  is  as  lean  as  a  greyhound,  and  has  jaws  like  a  jack) , 
and  the  rest  of  them.  Here  you  might  see  the  wretch  tippling 
Sillery  champagne  and  gorging  himself  with  French  viands  ; 
and  I  often  looked  with  sorrow  from  my  table,  (on  which 
cold  meat,  the  Club  small-beer,  and  a  half-pint  of  Marsala 
form  the  modest  banquet),  and  sighed  to  think  it  was  my 
work. 

And  there  were  other  beings  present  to  my  repentant 
thoughts.  Where's  his  wife,  thought  I?  Where's  poor,  good, 
kind  little  Laura?  At  this  ver}-  moment  —  it's  about  the  nur- 
sery bedtime,  and  while  yonder  good-for-nothing  is  swilling 
his  wine  —  the  little  ones  are  at  Laura's  knees  lisping  their 
prayers  ;  and  she  is  teaching  them  to  say —  ''  Pray  God  bless 
Papa." 

When  she  has  put  them  to  bed,  her  day's  occupation  is 
gone  ;  and  she  is  utterly  lonely  all  night,  and  sad,  and  waiting 
for  him. 

Oh,  for  shame  !  Oh,  for  shame  !  Go  home,  thou  idle  tip- 
pler. 

How  Sackville  lost  his  health  ;  how  he  lost  his  business ; 
how  he  got  into  scrapes  ;  how  he  got  into  debt ;  how  he  be- 
came a  railroad  director ;  how  the  Pimlico  house  was  shut  up  ; 
how  he  went  to  Boulogne,  — all  this  I  could  tell,  only  I  am  too 
much  ashamed  of  my  part  of  the  transaction.  They  returned  to 
England,  because,  to  the  surprise  of  everybod}^  Mrs.  Chuff  came 
down  with  a  great  sum  of  money  (which  nobodj^  knew  she 
had  saved),  and  paid  his  liabilities.  He  is  in  England;  but 
at  Kennington.  His  name  is  taken  off  the  books  of  the  Sar- 
cophagus "  long  ago.  When  we  meet,  he  crosses  over  to  the 
other  side  of  the  street ;  and  1  don't  call,  as  I  should  be 
sorry  to  see  a  look  of  reproach  or  sadness  in  Laura's  sweet 
face. 

Not,  however,  all  evil,  as  I  am  proud  to  think,  has  been  the 
influence  of  the  Snob  of  England  upon  Clubs  in  general:  — 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


425 


Captain  Shindy  is  afraid  to  bully  the  waiters  any  more,  and 
eats  his  mutton-chop  without  moving  Acheron.  Gobemouche 
does  not  take  more  than  two  papers  at  a  time  for  his  private 
reading.  Tiggs  does  not  ring  the  bell  and  cause  the  library- 
waiter  to  walk  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  order  to  give  him 
Vol.  II.,  which  lies  on  the  next  table.  Growler  has  ceased 
to  walk  from  table  to  table  in  the  coffee-room  and  inspect 
what  people  are  having  for  dinner.  Trotty  Veck  takes  his 
own  umbrella  from  the  hall  —  the  cotton  one;  and  83'dney 
Scraper's  paletot  lined  with  silk  has  been  brought  back  by 
Jobbins,  who  entirely  mistook  it  for  his  own.  Waggle  has 
discontinued  telling  stories  about  the  ladies  he  has  killer* 
Snooks  does  not  any  more  think  it  gentlemanlike  to  black- 
ball attorneys.  Snuffler  no  longer  publicly  spreads  out  his 
great  red  cotton  pocket-handkerchief  before  the  fire,  for  the 
admiration  of  two  hundred  gentlemen  ;  and  if  one  Club  Snob 
has  been  brought  back  to  the  paths  of  rectitude,  and  if  one 
poor  John  has  been  spared  a  journey  or  a  scolding  —  say, 
friends  and  brethren,  if  these  sketches  of  Club  Snobs  have 
been  in  vain  ? 


CHAPTER  LAST. 

How  it  is  that  we  have  come  to  No.  45  of  this  present  series 
of  papers,  my  dear  friends  and  brother  Snobs,  I  hardly  know  — 
but  for  a  whole  mortal  year  have  we  been  together,  prattling, 
and  abusing  the  human  race  ;  and  were  we  to  live  for  a  hun- 
dred years  more,  I  believe  there  is  plent}'  of  subject  for  con 
versation  in  the  enormous  theme  of  Snobs. 

The  national  mind  is  awakened  to  the  subject.  Letters 
pour  in  every  da}^  conveying  marks  of  sympath}' ;  directing 
the  attention  of  the  Snob  of  England  to  races  of  Snobs  yet 
undescribed.  Where  are  3'our  Theatrical  Snobs  ;  your  Com- 
mercial Snobs ;  your  Medical  and  Chirurgical  Snobs ;  your 
Official  Snobs  ;  your  Legal  Snobs  ;  your  Artistical  Snobs  ;  your 
Musical  Snobs;  your  Sporting  Snobs?"  write  my  esteemed 
correspondents.  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  miss  the  Cam- 
bridge Chancellor  election,  and  omit  showing  up  your  Don 
Snobs,  who  are  coming,  cap  in  hand,  to  a  .young  Prince  of 
six-and-twenty,  and  to  implore  him  to  be  the  chief  of  their 


426 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


renowned  Universit}  ? writes  a  friend  who  seals  with  the 
signet  of  the  Cam  and  Isis  Ckib.  Pra}^,  pray,"  cries  another, 
now  the  Operas  are  opening,  give  us  a  lecture  about  Omni- 
bus Snobs."  Indeed,  I  should  like  to  write  a  chapter  about 
the  Snobbish  Dons  very  much,  and  another  about  the  Snob- 
bish Dandies.  Of  m}^  dear  Theatrical  Snobs  I  think  with 
a  pang ;  and  I  can  hardly  break  away  from  some  Snobbish 
artists,  with  whom  I  have  long,  long  intended  to  have  a 
palaver. 

But  what's  the  use  of  delaying?  When  these  were  done 
there  would  be  fresh  Snobs  to  portray.  The  labor  is  endless. 
No  single  man  could  complete  it.  Here  are  but  fifty-two 
bricks  —  and  a  p3^ramid  to  build.  It  is  best  to  stop.  As  Jones 
alwa3's  quits  the  room  as  soon  as  he  has  said  his  good  thing, — 
as  Cincinnatus  and  General  Washington  both  retired  into  pri- 
vate life  in  the  height  of  their  popularity,  —  as  Prince  Albert, 
when  he  laid  the  first  stone  of  the  Exchange,  left  the  brick- 
layers to  complete  that  edifice  and  went  home  to  his  ro^^al  din- 
ner, —  as  the  poet  Bunn  comes  forward  at  the  end  of  the  sea- 
son, and  with  feelings  too  tumultuous  to  describe,  blesses  his 
k7/i7id  friends  over  the  footlights  :  so,  friends,  in  the  flush  of 
conquest  and  the  splendor  of  victor}',  amid  the  shouts  and  the 
plaudits  of  a  people  —  triumphant  yet  modest  —  the  Snob  of 
England  bids  3^e  farewell. 

But  only  for  a  season.  Not  for  ever.  No,  no.  There  is 
one  celebrated  author  whom  I  admire  very  much  —  who  has 
been  taking  leave  of  the  public  any  time  these  ten  years  in  his 
prefaces,  and  always  comes  back  again  when  everybody  is  glad 
to  see  him.  How  can  he  have  the  heart  to  be  saying  good-by 
so  often  ?  I  believe  that  Bunn  is  afi*ected  when  he  blesses  the 
people.  Parting  is  always  painful.  Even  the  familiar  bore  is 
dear  to  you.  I  should  be  sorry  to  shake  hands  even  with  Jaw- 
kins  for  the  last  time.  I  think  a  well-constituted  convict,  on 
coming  home  from  transportation,  ought  to  be  rather  sad  when 
he  takes  leave  of  Van  Diemen's  Land.  When  the  curtain 
goes  down  on  the  last  night  of  a  pantomime,  poor  old  clown 
must  be  very  dismal,  depend  on  it.  Ha !  with  what  joy  he 
rushes  forward  on  the  evening  of  the  26th  of  December  next, 
and  says  ^'  How  are  you?  —  Here  we  are  !  "  But  I  am  growing 
too  sentimental :  —  to  return  to  the  theme. 

The  national  mind  is  awakened  to  the  subject  of 
SNOBS.  The  word  Snob  has  taken  a  place  in  our  honest  Eng- 
lish vocabulary.    We  can't  define  it,  perhaps.    We  can't  say 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


427 


what  it  is,  any  more  than  we  can  define  wit,  or  humor,  or  hum- 
bug ;  but  we  know  what  it  is.  Some  weeks  since,  happening 
to  have  the  fehcity  to  sit  next  to  a  young  lady  at  a  tiospitabie 
table,  where  poor  old  Jawkins  was  holding  forth  in  a  very 
absurd  pompous  manner,  1  wrote  upon  the  spotless  damask 

 B,"  and  called  my  neighbor's  attention  to  the  little 

remark. 

That  young  lady  smiled.  She  knew  it  at  once.  Her  mind 
straightway  filled  up  the  two  letters  concealed  by  apostrophic 
reserve,  and  I  read  in  her  assenting  eyes  that  she  knew  Jawkins 
was  a  Snob.  You  seldom  get  them  to  make  use  of  the 
word  as  yet,  it  is  true ;  but  it  is  inconceivable  how  pretty  an 
expression  their  little  smiling  mouths  assume  when  they  speak 
it  out.  If  any  young  lady  doubts,  just  let  her  go  up  to  her 
own  room,  look  at  herself  steadily  in  the  glass,  and  say 
"  Snob."  If  she  tries  this  simple  experiment,  m}^  life  for  it, 
she  will  smile,  and  own  that  the  word  becomes  her  mouth 
amazingly.  A  pretty  little  round  word,  all  composed  of  soft 
letters,  with  a  hiss  at  the  beginning,  just  to  make  it  piquant, 
as  it  were. 

Jawkins,  meanwhile,  went  on  blundering,  and  bragging, 
and  boring,  quite  unconsciously.  And  so  he  will,  no  doubt,  go 
on  roaring  and  bracing  to  the  end  of  time,  or  at  least  so  long 
as  people  will  hear  him.  You  cannot  alter  the  nature  of 
men  and  Snobs  by  any  force  of  satire  ;  as,  by  la}  ing  ever  so 
many  stripes  on  a  donkey's  back,  you  can't  turn  him  into  a 
zebra. 

But  we  can  warn  the  neighborhood  that  the  person  whom 
they  and  Jawkins  admire  is  an  impostor.  We  can  apply  the 
Snob  test  to  him,  and  tr}'  whether  he  is  conceited  and  a  quack, 
whether  pompous  and  lacking  humility  —  whether  uncharitable 
and  proud  of  his  narrow  soul.  How  does  he  treat  a  great  man 
—  how  regard  a  small  one  ?  How  does  he  comport  himself  in 
the  presence  of  His  Grace  the  Duke  ;  and  how  in  that  of  Smith, 
the  tradesman? 

And  it  seems  to  me  that  all  English  society  is  cursed  by 
this  mammoniacal  superstition  ;  and  that  we  are  sneaking  and 
bowing  and  cringing  on  the  one  hand,  or  bulljing  and  scorning 
on  the  other,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest.  My  wife  speaks 
with  great  circumspection  —  proper  pride,"  she  calls  it —  to 
our  neighbor  the  tradesman's  lady;  and  she,  I  mean  Mrs. 
Snob — Eliza  —  would  give  one  of  her  e3'es  to  go  to  Court, 
as  her  cousin,  the  Captain's  wife,  did.  She,  again,  is  a  good 
soul,  but  it  costs  her  agonies  to  be  obliged  to  confess  that  we 


428 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


live  in  Upper  Thompson  Street,  Somer's  Town.  And  though  I 
believe  in  her  heart  Mrs.  Whiskerington  is  fonder  of  us  than 
of  her  cousins,  the  Smigsmags,  you  should  hear  how  she 
goes  on  prattling  about  Lsidy  Smigsmag,  —  and  I  said  to  Sir 
John,  my  dear  John,''  and  about  the  Smigsmags'  house  and 
parties  in  Hyde  Park  Terrace. 

Lady  Smigsmag,  when  she  meets  Eliza,  —  who  is  a  sort  of 
a  kind  of  a  species  of  a  connection  of  the  famil}^,  pokes  out  one 
finger,  which  my  wife  is  at  liberty  to  embrace  in  the  most  cor- 
dial manner  she  can  devise.  But  oh,  you  should  see  her  lad}^- 
ship's  behavior  on  her  first-chop  dinner-party  days,  when  Lord 
and  Lad}^  Longears  come  ! 

I  can  bear  it  no  longer — this  diabolical  invention  of  gentility 
which  kills  natural  kindliness  and  honest  friendship.  Proper 
pride  indeed  !  Rank  and  precedence,  forsooth  !  The  table  of 
ranks  and  degrees  is  a  lie,  and  should  be  flung  into  the  fire. 
Organize  rank  and  precedence  !  that  was  well  for  the  masters 
of  ceremonies  of  former  ages.  Come  forward,  some  great  mar- 
shal, and  organize  Equality  in  society',  and  your  rod  shall 
swallow  up  all  the  juggling  old  court  goldsticks.  If  this  is  not 
gospel-truth  —  if  the  world  does  not  tend  to  this  —  if  hereditary- 
great-man  worship  is  not  a  humbug  and  an  idolatry  —  let  us 
have  the  Stuarts  back  again,  and  crop  the  Free  Press's  ears 
in  the  pillory. 

If  ever  our  cousins,  the  Smigsmags,  asked  me  to  meet  Lord 
Longears,  I  would  like  to  take  an  opportunity  after  dinner  and 
say,  in  the  most  good-natured  way  in  the  world :  —  Sir,  For- 
tune makes  you  a  present  of  a  number  of  thousand  pounds 
every  year.  The  ineffable  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  has  placed 
you  as  a  chief  and  hereditary  legislator  over  me.  Our  admi- 
rable Constitution  (the  pride  of  Britons  and  envy  of  surround- 
ing nations)  obliges  me  to  receive  you  as  my  senator,  superior, 
and  guardian.  Your  eldest  son,  Fitz-Heehaw,  is  sure  of  a 
place  in  Parliament ;  your  younger  sons,  the  De  Brays,  will 
kindly  condescend  to  be  post-captains  and  heutenant-colonels, 
and  to  represent  us  in  foreign  courts  or  to  take  a  good  living 
when  it  falls  convenient.  These  prizes  our  admirable  Consti- 
tution (the  pride  and  envy  of,  &c.)  pronounces  to  be  your  due  : 
without  count  of  your  dulness,  your  vices,  your  selfishness;  or 
your  entire  incapacity  and  folly.  Dull  as  you  may  be  (and  we 
have  as  good  a  right  to  assume  that  my  lord  is  an  ass,  as  the 
other  proposition,  that  he  is  an  enlightened  patriot)  ;  —  dull,  I 
say,  as  you  may  be,  no  one  will  accuse  you  of  such  monstrous 
foily,  as  to  suppose  that  you  are  indiff*erent  to  the  good  luck 


TPIE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS.  429 
which  you  possess,  or  have  any  inclination  to  part  with  it 

I      Smi^  and     T  f  T       '  ""'^"^  '^^PP'*^''  circumstances,' 

Smith  and  I,  I  have  no  doubt,  were  we  dukes  ourselves,  would 
stand  by  our  order.  ' 

w        T?"'"^  good-naturedly  to  sit  in  a  high  place 

We  would  acquiesce  in  that  admirable  Constitution  (Sride  and 
envy  of  &c.)  which  made  us  chiefs  and  the  world  our  inferiors 
we  wou  d  not  cavil  particularly  at  that  notion  of  hereS; 
superiority  which  brought  so  many  simple  people  cringh  g  to 
our  knees.    May  be  we  would  rally  round  the  Corn-Laws  f  we 
would  make  a  s  and  against  the  Reform  Bill;  we  would  die 
rather  than  repeal  the  Acts  against  Catholics  ;nd  Dissenters 
we  would,  by  our  noble  system  of  class-legislation,  bring  Ire: 
land  to  its  present  admirable  condition.  ^ 
i    fi         -^"^'^^         ^  «arls  as  yet.    We  don't  believe 

!h    /i  I"  °f  «°^'th's  army  that  youn^  De  Brlv 

ekSn^tL^LoTd  f  ^^'--'^-^-^^V'  -  Smith's 
st^tZi      of        ^"^rf''  '''r'^       Ambassador  to  Con- 
£5i2y  fo7t  into'tLr'""'  ^'^^"'^  P"* 

This  bowing  and  cringing  Smith  believes  to  be  the  act  of 

u  V,  ""f  *°  no  longer.    To  Longears  he  savs 

-We  can  t  help  seeing,  Longears,  that  we  are  as  good  asTou 
We  can  spell  even  better;  we  can  think  quite  L'Sth-- 
will  not  have  you  for  our  master,  or  black  your  shoes  'am 

who^omlsT  tlalt'of^l'l  '"^  ^'^^  paidrr^dtelelS 
wuo  comes  to  get  a  list  of  the  company  when  you  eive  a  hnn 

quet  or  a  dancing  breakfast  at  Longueoreille  House  fets  mone; 

from  the  newspapers  for  performing  that  service     But  ToAS 

thank  you  for  nothing,  Longears  my  boy,  and  we  don'  wSh  to 

pay  you  any  more  than  we  owe     We  will  tX  off        u  . 

r  hllt^."*  f         Oircla„.    I  loathe  «„„,.,„„  inteUieence 

:irLV.t      rr„x?h  ^^cS'-' sr^rT  ^"^^ 

your  neio-hbor  nrp  n  Qn^K  '^''''''"^^"^s^cietj  .    You,  who  despise 

you,  who  are  nalnimari  *      "Coiee,  are  a  ftnoo ; 

^    ,  wno  are  ashamed  of  your  poverty,  and  blush  for  your 


430 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


calling,  are  a  Snob ;  as  are  you  who  boast  of  your  pedigree, 
or  are  proud  of  your  wealth. 

To  laugh  at  such  is  Mr.  Punch's  business.  May  he  laugh 
honestly,  hit  no  foul  blow,  and  tell  the  truth  when  at  his  very 
broadest  grin  —  never  forgetting  that  if  Fun  is  good.  Truth  is 
still  better,  and  Love  best  of  all. 


THE  END. 


